.: 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


* 


"  THOU    ART    MY    GUIDE. 


OUK  WORLD: 


OB, 


"An  nonest  tale  speeds  test  being  plainly  told. 


NEW  YOKE: 
MILLER,   ORTON  &   MULLIGAN, 

25  PARK  ROW,  OPPOSITE  ASTOR  HOUSE. 

AUBURN: 
107     GENESEE     STREET. 

1855,  ,  ,,, 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  one  thousand  eight  hundred 
and  fifty-five, 

BY  MILLEK,  OKTON  &  MULLIGAN, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  Northern  District  of  New  York. 


AUBURN : 

MILLER,     OKTON     4     MULLIGAN, 
STEREOTYPERS  AHD  PMNTEH8. 


/OO  3 


PREFACE. 


IN  presenting  this  work  to  the  public,  we  may  be 
1     permitted  to  say,  that  we  are  fully  conscious  of  the 
grave  charges  of  misrepresenting  society,  and  mis 
construing  facts,  which  will  be  laid  at  our  door,  by 
_:.     our  friends  of  the  South,  and  its  very  peculiar  insti 
tution  ;  but  earnestly  do  we  enjoin  all  such  champions 
<M    of  "  things  as  they  are,"  to  read  and  well  digest  what 
m    we  have  set  before  them ;  believing  that  they  will 
o    find  the  TRUTH  even  "  stranger  than  fiction ;"  and,  as 
an  incentive  to  the  noble  exertions  of  those,  either 
North  or  South,  who  would  rid  our  country  of  its 
3    "  darkest,  foulest  blot,"  we  would  say,  that  we  have 
~     here  attempted  to  give  a  true  picture  of  Southern  so- 
ij     ciety  in  its  various  aspects,  and  that,  in  our  judg- 
l'J     ment,  the  institution  of  Slavery  is  directly  chargea- 
ij     ble  with  the  various  moral,  social  and  political  evils 
"*     which  we  have  detailed. 

THE  AUTHOR. 

f.     C,   fi^n 


451349 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTKU.  PAGE. 

I.     Marston's  Plantation, 1 

II.  How  a  Night  was  spent  on  Marston's  Plantation,       11 

III.  Things  not  so  bright  as  they  seem,     ...         24 

IV.  An  Unexpected  Confession,  .          ,          .          .39 
V.  The  Marooning  Party,      .....         47 

VI.  Another  Scene  in  Southern  Life,           .         .          .60 

VII.  "  Buckra-Man  very  Uncertain,"          ...         78 

VIII.  A  Cloud  of  Misfortune  hangs  over  the  Plantation,     85 

IX.  Who  is  Safe  against  the  Power  ?            ...     98 

X.  Another  Shade  of  the  Picture,         .         .          .         116 

XI.  Mrs.  Rosebrook's  Project,              ....   127 

XII.  Elder  Pemberton  Praiseworthy  Changes  his  Busi 
ness,          .......       143 

XIII.  A  Father  tri«a  to  be  a  Father,       .         .         .         .153 

XIV.  In  which  Extremes  are  Presented,     .         .         .       161 
XV.     A  Scene  of  Many  Lights, 170 

XVI.  Another  Phase  of  the  Picture,           .         .         .187 

XVIL  Pleasant  Dealings  with  Human  Property,     .         .   191 

XVIII.  A  not  uncommon -Scene  slightly  changed,          .       202 

XIX.     They  are  going  to  be  Sold, 206 

XX.  Let  us  follow   poor  Human  Nature  to   the   Man 

Shambles, 222 

XXI.     A  Father's  Trials, 236 

XXII.  We  Change  with  Fortune,         .         .         .         .254 

XXIII.  The  Vicissitudes  of  a  Preacher,     .         .         .         .268 

XXIV.  How  we  Manufacture  Political  Faith,         .         .       280 
XXV.  Mr.  M'Fadden  sees  Shadows  of  the  Future,  .         .  291 

XXVI.     How  they  stole  the  Preacher,  .          .         .297 

XXVII.     Competition  in  Human  Things,     ....  303 


CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER.  PAQB. 

XXVIII.  The  Pretty  Children  arc  to  be  Sold,         .         .         318 

XXIX.     Nature  Shames  Itself, 329 

XXX.  The  Vision  of  Death  is  Past,          ...         838 

XXXI.  A  Friend  is  "Woman,         .         .         .         .         .352 

XXXII.  Marston  in  Prison,        ...         .         .         367 

XXXIII.  Venders  of  Human  Property  are  not  Responsi 

ble  for  its  Mental  Caprices,         .         .          .     376 

XXXIV.  A  Common  Incident  shortly  told,          .         .         392 
XXXV.  The  Children  are  Improving,           ...         .895 

XXXVL  Workings  of  the  Slave  System,       .                   ,         412 

XXXVII.  An  Item  in  the  Common  Calendar,     .         .         .  424 

XXXVIII.  In  which  Regrets  are  shown  of  little  Worth,   .         429 

XXXIX.  How  we  should  all  be  Forgiving,        .          ...  439 

XL.  Containing  Various  Matters,           .         .          .         447 

XLI.  Nicholas,  s  Simple  Story,    .         .         .         .         .461 

XLII.  He  would  Deliver  her  from  Bondage,     .          .         469 

XLIII.     Other  Phases  of  the  Subject 478 

XLIV.  How  Daddy  Bob  Departed,            ...         485 

XLV.  How  Slaveholders  Fear  each  other,     .         .         .  499 

XLVI.  Southern  Administration  of  Justice,        .          .         505 

XLVII.  Prosperity  the  Result  of  Justice,         .         .         .  517 

XL VIII.  In  which  the  Fate  of  Franconia  is  seen,           .         523 

XLIX.  In  which  is  a  Sad  Recognition,            .          .          .   534 

L.  In  which  a  Dangerous  Principle  is  Illustrated,        544 

LI.  A  Continuation  of  the  Last  Chapter.      .         .         552 

LII.  In  which  are  Pleasures  and  Disappointments,      .   559 

LIII.  A  Familiar  Scene,  in  which  Pringle  Blowers  has 

Business,       ......         566 

LIV.  In  which  are  Discoveries  and  Pleasant  Scenes,     .   574 

LV.  In  which  is  a  Happy  Meeting,  some  Curious  Facts 

Developed,  and  Clotilda's  History  Disclosed,    584 

LVI.  In  which  a  Plot  is  Disclosed,  and  the  Man-Seller 

made  to  Pay  the  Penalty  of  his  Crimes,   .         591 


DUE  VOBLD. 


CHAPTER  I 

MARSTCm'b  PLANTATION. 

OH  the  left  bank  of  the  Ashly  River,  in  the  State  of  South 
Carolina,  and  a  few  miles  from  its  principal  city,  is  a  plan 
tation  once  the  property  of  Hugh  Marston.  It  was  near 
this  spot,  the  brave  Huguenots,  fleeing  religious  and 
political  persecution,  founded  their  first  American  colony — 
invoked  Heaven  to  guard  their  liberties — sought  a  refuge 
in  a  new  world !  And  it  was  here  the  pious  Huguenot 
forgot  his  appeals  to  high  heaven — forgot  what  had  driven 
him  from  his  fatherland,  and— unlike  the  pilgrim  fathers  who 
planted  their  standard  on  "New  England's  happy  shore,"— 
became  the  first  to  oppress.  It  was  here,  against  a  fierce 
tyranny,  the  gallant  Yamassee*  loyal  to  his  professed 
friend,  struggled  and  died  for  his  liberty.  It  was  here 
the  last  remnant  of  his  tribe  fought  the  fierce  battle 
of  right  over  might  !  It  was  here,  in  this  domain, 
destined  to  be  the  great  and  powerful  of  nations — the 
asylum  of  an  old  world's  shelter  seeking  poor,  and  the 
proud  embodiment  of  a  people's  sovereignty, — liberty  was 
first  betrayed  !  It  was  here  men  deceived  themselves,  and 
freedom  proclaimers  became  freedom  destroyers.  And,  too, 
it  was  here  Spanish  cupidity,  murderous  in  its  search  for 
gold,  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  humanity's  cries,  slaughtered 
the  friendly  Indian,  and  drenched  the  soil  with  his  innocent 
blood.  And  it  is  here,  at  this  moment,  slavery — fierce 

*  A  tribe  of  faithful  and  heroic  Indiana. 


2  MARSTON'S  PLANTATION. 

monster,  threatening  the  peace  of  a  happy  people  — runs 
riot  in  all  its  savage  vicissitudes,  denying  man  his  com 
monest  birthright. 

If  history  did  but  record  the  barbarous  scenes  yet 
enacted  on  tho  banks  of  this  lovely  stream,  the  contrast 
with  its  calm  surface  sweeping  gently  onward  to  mingle  its 
waters  with  the  great  deep,  would  be  strange  indeed.  How 
mellowed  by  the  calm  beauty  of  a  summer  evening,  the 
one  ! — how  stained  with  scenes  of  misery,  torment,  and 
death,  the  other ! 

Let  us  beg  the  reader  to  follow  us  back  to  the  time  when 
Marston  is  found  in  possession  of  the  plantation,  and  view 
it  as  it  is  when  his  friends  gather  round  him  to  enjoy  his 
bounteous  hospitality. 

We  have  ascended  the  Ashly  on  a  bright  spring  morning, 
and  are  at  a  jut  covered  with  dark  jungle,  where  the  river, 
about  twenty  rods  wide,  sweeps  slowly  round ; — flower 
ing  brakes,  waving  their  tops  to  and  fro  in  the  breeze,  bedeck 
the  river  banks,  and  far  in  the  distance,  on  the  left,  opens 
the  broad  area  of  the  plantation.  As  we  near  it,  a  beauti 
fully  undulating  slope  presents  itself,  bounded  on  its  upper 
edge  by  a  long  line  of  sombre-looking  pines.  Again  we 
emerge  beneath  clustering  foliage  overhanging  the  river ; 
and  from  out  this — sovereign  of  a  southern  clime — the  wild 
azalia  and  fair  magnolia  diffuse  their  fragrance  to  perfume 
the  air.  From  the  pine  ridge  the  slope  recedes  till  it 
reaches  a  line  of  jungle,  or  hedge,  that  separates  it  from 
the  marshy  bottom,  extending  to  the  river,  against  which 
it  is  protected  by  a  dyke.  Most  of  the  slope  is  under  a 
high  state  of  cultivation,  and  on  its  upper  edge  is  a  newly 
cleared  patch  of  ground,  which  negroes  are  preparing  for 
the  cotton-seed. 

Smoking  piles  burn  here  and  there,  burned  stumps  and 
trees  point  their  black  peaks  upward  in  the  murky  atmos 
phere,  half-clad  negroes  in  coarse  osnaburgs  are  busy  among 
the  smoke  and  fire  :  the  scene  presents  a  smouldering 
volcano  inhabited  by  semi-devils.  Among  the  sombre 
denizens  are  women,  their  only  clothing  being  osnaburg 
frocks,  made  loose  at  the  neck  and  tied  about  the  waist 
with  a  string :  with  hoes  they  work  upon  the  "  top  sur 
face,"  gather  charred  wood  into  piles,  and  waddle  along 
as  if  time  were  a  drug  upon  life. 


MAKSTON'S  PLANTATION.  3 

Far  away  to  the  right  the  young  corn  shoots^its  green 
sprouts  in  a  square  plat,  where  a  few  negroes  are  quietly 
engaged  at  the  first  hoeing.  Being  tasked,  they  work 
with  system,  and  expect,  if  they  never  receive,  a  share  of 
the  fruits.  All  love  and  respect  Marston,  for  he  is  gene 
rous  and  kind  to  them  ;  but  system  in  business  is  at 
variance  with  his  nature.  His  overseer,  however,  is  just 
the  reverse :  he  is  a  sharp  fellow,  has  an  unbending  will,  is 
proud  of  his  office,  and  has  long  been  reckoned  among  the 
very  best  in  the  county.  Full  well  he  knows  what  sort  of 
negro  makes  the  best  driver ;  and  where  nature  is  ignorant 
of  itself,  the  accomplishment  is  valuable.  That  he  watches 
Marston's  welfare,  no  one  doubts ;  that  he  never  forgets  his 
own,  is  equally  certain.  From  near  mid-distance  of  the 
slope  we  see  him  approaching  on  a  bay-coloured  horse. 
The  sun's  rays  are  fiercely  hot,  and,  though  his  features  are 
browned  and  haggard,  he  holds  a  huge  umbrella  in  one  hand 
and  the  inseparable  whip  in  the  other.  The  former  is  his 
protector ;  the  latter,  his  sceptre.  John  Ryan,  for  such  is 
his  name,  is  a  tall,  athletic  man,  whose  very  look  excites 
terror.  Some  say  he  was  born  in  Limerick,  on  the  Emerald 
Isle,  and  only  left  it  because  his  proud  spirit  would  not 
succumb  to  the  unbending  rod  England  held  over  his  poor 
bleeding  country. 

Running  along  the  centre  of  the  slope  is  a  line  of  cotton- 
fields,  in  which  the  young  plants,  sickly  in  spots,  have 
reached  a  stage  when  they  require  much  nursing.  Among 
them  are  men,  women,  and  children,  crouched  on  the 
ground  like  so  many  sable  spectres,  picking  and  pulling  at 
the  roots  to  give  them  strength.  John  Ryan  has  been 
keeping  a  sharp  eye  on  them.  He  will  salute  you  with  an 
air  of  independence,  tell  you  how  he  hated  oppression  and 
loved  freedom,  and  how,  at  the  present  day,  he  is  a  great 
democrat.  Sow,  whether  John  left  his  country  for  his 
country's  good,  is  a  question ;  but  certain  it  is  he  dearly 
delights  to  ply  the  lash, — to  whip  mankind  merely  for  amuse 
ment's  sake.  In  a  word,  John  has  a  good  Irish  heart 
within  him,  and  he  always  lays  particular  emphasis  on  the 
good,  when  he  tells  us  of  its  qualities;  but  let  us  rather 
charge  to  the  State  that  spare  use  he  makes  of  its  gentler 
parts. 

John  Ryan,  his  face  indicating  tyranny  stereotyped,  has 


4  MARSTON  S  PLANTATION. 

just  been  .placing  drivers  over  each  gang  of  workmen.  How 
careful  he  was  to  select  a  trustworthy  negro,  whose  vanity 
he  has  excited,  and  who  views  his  position  as  dearly  im 
portant.  Our  driver  not  unfrequently  is  the  monster  tyrant 
of  his  circle ;  but  whether  from  inclination  to  serve  the 
interests  of  his  master,  or  a  knowledge  of  the  fierce  system 
that  holds  him  alike  abject,  we  know  not.  At  times  he  is 
more  than  obedient  to  his  master's  will. 

Excuse,  reader,  this  distant  view  of  the  plantation  at  early 
spring,  and  follow  us  back  to  the  Ashly.  Here  we  will 
still  continue  along  the  river-bank,  pass  borders  of  thick 
jungle,  flowering  vines,  and  rows  of  stately  pines,  their  tops 
moaning  in  the  wind, — and  soon  find  we  have  reached 
Marston's  landing.  This  is  situated  at  the  termination  of 
an  elevated  plat  extending  from  thence  to  the  mansion, 
nearly  a  mile  distant.  Three  negroes  lay  basking  on  the 
bank  ;  they  were  sent  to  wait  our  coming.  Tonio !  Murel ! 
Pompe ! — they  ejaculate,  calling  one  another,  as  we  surprise 
them.  They  are  cheerful  and  polite,  are  dressed  in  striped 
shirts  and  trousers,  receive  us  with  great  suavity  of  manner, 
present  master's  compliments,  tell  us  with  an  air  of  welcome 
that  master  will  be  "right  glad"  to  see  us,  and  conclude  by 
making  sundry  inquiries  about  our  passage  and  our 
"Missuses."  Pompe,  the  "  most  important  nigger"  of  the 
three,  expresses  great  solicitude  lest  we  get  our  feet  in  the 
mud.  Black  as  Afric's  purest,  and  with  a  face  of  great 
good  nature,  Pompe,  in  curious  jargon,  apologises  for  the 
bad  state  of  the  landing,  tells  us  he  often  reminds  Mas'r 
how  necessary  it  is  to  have  it  look  genteel.  Pompe,  more 
•  than  master,  is  deeply  concerned  lest  the  dignity  of  the 
plantation  suffer. 

Planks  and  slabs  are  lain  from  the  water's  edge  to  the 
high  ground  on  the  ridge,  upon  which  we  ascend  to  the 
crown,  a  piece  of  natural  soil  rising  into  a  beautiful 
convex  of  about  six  rods  wide,  extending  to  the  garden  gate. 
We  wend  our  way  to  the  mansion,  leaving  Pompe  and  his 
assistants  in  charge  of  our  luggage,  which  they  will  see 
safely  landed.  The  ridge  forms  a  level  walk,  sequestered 
by  long  lines  of  huge  oaks,  their  massive  branches  forming 
an  arch  of  foliage,  with  long  trailing  moss  hanging  like 
mourning  drapery  to  enhance  its  rural  beauty.  At  the 
extreme  of  this  festooned  walk  the  mansion  is  seen 


MARSTON'S  PLANTATION.  .         5 

dwindling  into  an  almost  imperceptible  perspective.  There 
is  something  grand  and  impressive  in  the  still  arch  above 
us — something  •which  revives  our  sense  of  the  beauty  of 
nature.  Through  the  trunks  of  the  trees,  on  our  right  and 
left,  extensive  rice  fields  are  seen  stretching  far  into  the  dis 
tance.  The  young  blades  are  shooting  above  the  surface  of 
the  water,  giving  it  the  appearance  of  a  frozen  sheet  clothed 
with  green,  and  protected  from  the  river  by  a  serpentine  em 
bankment.  How  beautiful  the  expanse  viewed  from  beneath 
these  hoary-headed  oaks ! 

On  the  surface  and  along  the  banks  of  the  river  aligators 
are  sporting  ;  moccasou  snakes  twist  their  way  along,  and 
scouring  kingfishers  croak  in  the  balmy  air.  If  a  venerable 
rattlesnake  warn  us  we  need  not  fear — being  an  honourable  \ 
snake  partaking  of  the  old  southerner's  affected  chivalry;— -/ 
he  will  not  approach  disguised ; — no!  he  will  politely  give 
us  warning.  But  we  have  emerged  from  the  mossy  walk 
and  reached  a  slab  fence,  dilapidated  and  broken,  which 
encloses  an  area  of  an  acre  of  ground,  in  the  centre  of 
which  stands  the  mansion :  the  area  seems  to  have  been  a 
garden,  which,  in  former  days,  may  have  been  cultivated 
with  great  care.  At  present  it  only  presents  a  few  beds 
rank  with  weeds.  We  are  told  the  gardener  has  been  dis 
missed  in  consideration  of  his  more  lucrative  services  in 
the  corn-field.  That  the  place  is  not  entirely  neglected,  we 
have  only  to  add  that  Marston' s  hogs  are  exercising  an 
independent  right  to  till  the  soil  according  to  their  own 
system.  The  mansion  is  a  quadrangular  building,  about 
sixty  feet  long  by  fifty  wide,  built  of  wood,  two  stories  high, 
having  upper  and  lower  verandas. 

We  pass  the  dilapidated  gate,  and  reach  it  by  a  narrow 
passage  through  the  garden,  on  each  side  of  which  is  a 
piece  of  antique  statuary,  broken  and  defaced.  Entering 
the  lower  veranda,  we  pace  the  quadrangle,  viewing  innume 
rable  cuttings  and  carvings  upon  the  posts  :  they  are 
initials  and  full  names,  cut  to  please  the  vanity  of  those 
anxious  to  leave  the  Marston  family  a  memento.  Again 
we  arrive  at  the  back  of  the  mansion  where  the  quadrangle 
opens  a  courtyard  filled  with  broken  vines,  blackened  cedars, 
and  venerable-looking  leaks  ; — they  were  once  much  valued 
by  the  ancient  and  very  respectable  Marston  family.  A  few 
yards  from  the  left  wing  of  the  mansion  are  the  "  yard 


6  MARSTON'S  PLANTATION. 

houses" — little,  comely  cabins,  about  twelve  feet  by  twenty, 
and  proportionately  high.  One  is  the  kitchen :  it  has  a 
dingy  look,  the  smoke  issuing  from  its  chinks  regardless 
of  the  chimney ;  while  from  its  door,  sable  denizens, 
ragged  and  greasy,  and  straining  their  curious  faces,  issue 
forth.  The  polished  black  cook,  with  her  ample  figure,  is 
foaming  with  excitement,  lest  the  feast  she  is  preparing 
for  master's  guests  may  fail  to  sustain  her  celebrity.  Con 
spicuous  among  these  cabins  are  two  presenting  a  much 
neater  appearance  :  they  are  brightly  whitewashed,  and  the 
little  windows  are  decorated  with  flowering  plants.  Within 
them  there  is  an  air  of  simple  neatness  and  freshness  we 
have  seldom  seen  surpassed ;  the  meagre  furniture  seems  to 
have  been  arranged  by  some  careful  hand,  and  presents  an 
air  of  cheerfulness  in  strange  contrast  with  the  dingy 
cabins  around.  In  each  there  is  a  neatly  arranged  bed, 
spread  over  with  a  white  cover,  and  by  its  side  a  piece  of 
soft  carpet.  It  is  from  these  we  shall  draw  forth  the  prin 
cipal  characters  of  our  story. 

Upon  a  brick  foundation,  about  twenty  rods  from  the 
right  wing  of  the  mansion,  stands  a  wood  cottage,  occupied 
by  the  overseer.  Mr.  John  Ryan  not  being  blessed  with 
a  family,  when  Marston  is  not  honoured  with  company 
takes  his  meals  at  the  mansion.  In  the  distance,  to  the 
left,  is  seen  a  long  line  of  humble  huts,  standing  upon  piles, 
and  occupied  by  promiscuous  negro  families  : — we  say  pro 
miscuous,  for  the  marriage-tie  is  of  little  value  to  the 
master,  nor  does  it  give  forth  specific  claim  to  parentage. 
The  sable  -occupants  are  beings  of  uncertainty  ;  their  toil  is 
for  a  life-time — a  weary  waste  of  hope  and  disappointment. 
Yes !  their  dreary  life  is  a  heritage,  the  conditions  of  which 
no  man  would  share  willingly.  Victors  of  husbandry,  they 
share  not  of  the  spoils ;  nor  is  the  sweat  of  their  brows 
repaid  with  justice. 

Near  these  cabins,  mere  specks  in  the  distance,  are  two 
large  sheds,  under  which  are  primitive  mills,  wherein 
negroes  grind  corn  for  their  humble  meal.  Returning 
from  the  field  at  night,  hungry  and  fatigued,  he  who  gets 
a  turn  at  the  mill  first  is  the  luckiest  fellow.  Now  that  the 
workpeople  are  busily  engaged  on  the  plantation,  the 
cabins  are  in  charge  of  two  nurses,  matronly-looking  old 
bodies,  who  are  vainly  endeavouring  to  keep  in  order 


MARSTONS  PLANTATION.  7 

numerous  growing  specimens  of  the  race  too  young  to 
destroy  a  grub  at  the  root  of  a  cotton  plant.  The  task  is 
indeed  a  difficult  one,  they  being  as  unruly  as  an  excited 
Congress.  They  gambol  round  the  door,  make  pert  faces 
at  old  mamma,  and  seem  as  happy  as  snakes  in  the  s'pringsun. 
Some  are  in  a  nude  state,  others  have  bits  of  frocks  covering 
hapless  portions  of  their  bodies ;  they  are  imps  of  mischief 
personified,  yet  our  heart  bounds  with  sympathy  for  them. 
Alive  with  comicality,  they  move  us,  almost  unconsciously, 
to  fondle  them.  And  yet  we  know  not  why  we  would 
fondle  the  sable  "rascals."  One  knot  is  larking  on  the 
grass,  running,  toddling,  yelling,  and  hooting;  another, 
ankle-deep  in  mud,  clench  together  and  roll  among  the 
ducks,  work  their  clawy  fingers  through  the  tufts  of  each 
other's  crispy  hair,  and  enjoy  their  childish  sports  with  an 
air  of  genial  happiness  ;  while  a  third  sit  in  a  circle  beside 
an  oak  tree,  playing  with  "  Dash,"  whose  tail  they  pull 
without  stint.  "Dash"  is  the  faithful  and  favourite  dog; 
he  rather  likes  a  saucy  young  "  nigger,"  and,  while  feeling 
himself  equal  to  the  very  best  in  the  clan,  will  permit  the 
small  fry,  without  resenting  the  injury,  to  pull  his  tail. 

It  being  "ration  day,"  we  must  describe  the  serving, 
that  being  an  interesting  phase  of  plantation  life.  Negroes 
have  gathered  into  motley  groups  around  two  weather- 
beaten  store-houses  —  the  overseer  has  retired  to  his 
apartment— when  they  wait  the  signal  from  the  head  driver, 
who  figures  as  master  of  ceremonies.  One  sings : — 

"Jim  Crack  corn,  an'  I  don't  care, 
Fo'h  mas'r's  gone  away !  way  !  way ! " 

Another  is  croaking  over  the  time  he  saved  on  his  task, 
a  third  is  trying  to  play  a  trick  with   the  driver  (come 
the  possum  over  him),  and  a  third  unfolds  the  scheme  by 
which   the   extra   for   whiskey   and   molasses  was    raised. 
Presenting  a  sable  pot  pourri,  they  jibber  and  croak  among 
themselves,  laugh  and  whistle,  go   through  the    antics  of 
the  "  break-down  "  dance,  make  the  very  air  echo  with  the 
music  of  their  incomprehensible  jargon.     We  are  well  nigh  / 
deafened  by  it,  and  yet  it  excites  our  joy.     We  are  amused  \ 
and  instructed ;  we  laugh  because  they  laugh,  our  feelings  \ 
vibrate  with  theirs,  their  quaint  humour  forces  itself  into 
our  very  soul,  and  our  sympathy  glows   with  their  happy 


8  MARSTON'S  PLANTATION. 

anticipations.  The  philosophy  of  their  jargon  is  catching 
to  our  senses ;  we  listen  that  we  may  know  their  natures, 
and  learn  good  from  their  simplicity.  He  is  a  strange 
mortal  who  cannot  learn  something  from  a  fool ! 

The  happy  moment  has  arrived :  "  Ho,  boys !"  is 
sounded, — the  doors  open,  the  negroes  stop  their  antics  and 
their  jargon;  stores  are  exposed,  and  with  one  dinning 
mutter  all  press  into  a  half-circle  at  the  doors,  in  one  of 
which  stands  the  huge  figure  of  Balam,  the  head  driver. 
He  gives  a  scanning  look  at  the  circle  of  anxious  faces ; 
he  would  have  us  think  the  importance  of  the  plantation 
centred  in  his  glowing  black  face.  There  he  stands — 
a  measure  in  his  hand — while  another  driver,  with 
an  air  of  less  dignity,  cries  out,  with  a  stentorian  voice, 
the  names  of  the  heads  of  families,  and  the  number  of 
children  belonging  thereto.  Thus,  one  by  one,  the  name 
being  announced  in  muddled  accents,  they  step  forward, 
and  receive  their  corn,  or  rice,  as  may  be.  In  pans  and  pails 
they  receive  it,  pass  it  to  the  younger  members  of  tho 
family ;  with  running  and  scampering,  they  carry  the  coarse 
allotment  to  their  cabin  with  seeming  cheerfulness. 
Marston,  esteemed  a  good  master,  always  gives  bacon,  and 
to  receive  this  the  negroes  will  gather  round  the  store  a 
second  time.  In  this,  the  all-fascinating  bacon  is  concealed, 
for  which  the  children  evince  more  concern;  their  eyes 
begin  to  shine  brighter,  their  watchfulness  becomes  more 
intent.  Presently  a  negro  begins  to  withdraw  the  meat, 
and  as  he  commences  action  the  jargon  gets  louder,  until 
we  are  deafened,  and  would  fain  move  beyond  it.  Just 
then,  the  important  driver,  with  hand  extended,  commands, 
— "  Order !"  at  the  very  top  of  his  loud  voice.  All  is  again 
still ;  the  man  returns  to  his  duty.  The  meat  is  somewhat 
oily  and  rancid,  but  Balam  cuts  it  as  if  it  were  choice  and 
"scarce.  Another  driver  weighs  it  in  a  pair  of  scales  he 
holds  in  his  hands  ;  while  still  another,  cutting  the  same  as 
before,  throws  it  upon  some  chaff  at  the  door,  as  if  it  were  a 
bone  thrown  to  a  hungry  dog.  How  humbly  the  recipient 
picks  it  up  and  carries  it  to  his  or  her  cabin  !  Not  un- 
frequently  the  young  "imps"  will  scramble  for  it,  string  it 
upon  skewers,  and  with  great  nonchalance  throw  it  over 
their  shoulders,  and  walk  off.  If  it  bathe  their  backs  with 
grease  so  much  more  the  comfort.  Those  little  necessaries 


MARSTON  S  PLANTATION.  9 

which  add  so  much  to  the  negro's  comfort,  and  of  which 
he  is  so  fond,  must  be  purchased  with  the  result  of  his  extra 
energy.  Even  this  allowance  may  serve  the  boasted  hospi 
tality  ;  but  the  impression  that  there  is  a  pennyworth  of 
generosity  for  every  pound  of  parsimony,  forces  itself  upon 
us.  On  his  little  spot,  by  moonlight  or  starlight,  the  negro 
must  cultivate  for  himself,  that  his  family  may  enjoy  a  few 
of  those  fruits  of  which  .master  has  many.  How  miserable  is 
the  man  without  a  spark  of  generosity  in  his  soul ;  and  how 
much  more  miserable  the  man  who  will  not  return  good  for 
good's  worth  !  To  the  negro,  kindness  is  a  mite  inspiring 
the  impulses  of  a  simple  heart,  and  bringing  forth  great 
good. 

Let  us  again  beg  the  reader  to  return  with  us  to  those 
conspicuous  cottages  near  the  court-yard,  and  in  which  we 
will  find  several  of  our  characters. 

We  cross  the  threshold  of  one,  and  are  accosted  by  a 
female  who,  speaking  iri  musical  accents,  invites  us  to  sit 
down.  She  has  none  of  Afric's  blood  in  her  veins ; — no  ! 
her  features  are  beautifully  olive,  and  the  intonation  of  her 
voice  discovers  a  diiferent  origin.  Her  figure  is  tall  and 
well-formed ;  she  has  delicately-formed  hands  and  feet, 
long,  tapering  fingers,  well-rounded  limbs,  and  an  oval 
face,  shaded  with  melancholy.  How  reserved  she  seems,  and 
yet  how  quickly  she  moves  her  graceful  figure !  Now  she 
places  her  right  hand  upon  her  finely-arched  forehead,  parts 
the  heavy  folds  of  glossy  hair  that  hang  carelessly  over  her 
brown  shoulders,  and  with  a  half-suppressed  smile  answers 
our  salutation.  We  are  welcome  in  her  humble  cabin  ;  but 
her  dark,  languishing  eyes,  so  full  of  intensity,  watch  us 
with  irresistible  suspicion.  They  are  the  symbols  of  her 
inward  soul;  they  speak  through  that  melancholy  per 
vading  her  countenance !  The  deep  purple  of  her  cheek  ia 
softened  by  it,  while  it  adds  to  her  face  that  calm  beauty 
which  moves  the  gentle  of  our  nature.  How  like  a  woman 
born  to  fill  a  loftier  sphere  than  that  to  which  a  cruel  law 
subjects  her,  she  seems ! 

Neither  a  field  nor  a  house  servant,  the  uninitiated  may  be 
at  a  loss  to  know  what  sphere  on  the  plantation  is  her's  ? 
She  is  the  mother  of  Annette,  a  little  girl  of  remarkable 
beauty,  sitting  at  her  side,  playing  with  her  left  hand. 
Annette  is  fair,  has  light  auburn  hair — not  the  first  tinge  of 


10  MARSTON'S  PLANTATION. 

her  mother's  olive  invades  her  features.  Her  little  cheerful 
face  is  lit  up  with  a  smile,  and  while  toying  with  the  rings 
on  her  mother's  lingers,  asks  questions  that  person  does  not 
seem  inclined  to  answer.  Vivacious  and  sprightly,  she  chatters 
and  lisps  until  we  become  eager  for  her  history.  "It's  only  a 
child's  history,"  some  would  say.  But  the  mother  displays 
BO  much  fondness  for  it ;  and  yet  we  become  more  and 
more  excited  by  the  strange  manner  in  which  she  tries  to 
suppress  an  outward  display  of  her  feelings.  At  times  she 
pats  it  gently  on  the  head,  runs  her  hands  through  its 
hair,  and  twists  the  ends  into  tiny  ringlets. 

In  the  next  cabin  we  meet  the  shortish  figure  of  a  tawny 
female,  whose  Indian  features  stand  boldly  out.  Her  high 
cheek  bones,  long  glossy  black  hair,  and  flashing  eyes, 
are  the  indexes  of  her  pedigree.  "  My  master  says  I  am  a 
slave  :  "  in  broken  accents  she  answers  our  question.  As 
she  sits  in  her  chair  near  the  fire-place  of  bricks,  a  male 
issue  of  the  mixed  blood  toddles  round  and  round  her, 
tossing  her  long  coarse  hair  every  time  he  makes  a  circut. 
The  little  boy  is  much  fairer  than  the  brawny  daughter  who 
seems  his  mother.  Playful,  and  even  mischievous,  he 
delights  in  pulling  the  hair  which  curls  over  his  head  ;  and 
when  the  woman  calls  him  he  answers  with  a  childish 
heedlessness,  and  runs  for  the  door.  Header!  this  woman's 
name  is  Ellen  Juvarna ;  she  has  youth  on  her  side,  and 
though  she  retains  the  name  of  her  ancient  sire,  is  proud  of 
|  being  master's  mistress.  She  tells  us  how  comfortable  she 
/  is ;  how  Nicholas,  for  each  is  his  name,  resembles  his  father, 
how  he  loves  him,  but  how  he  fails  to  acknowledge  him. 
A  feud,  with  its  consequences,  is  kept  up  between  the  two 
cabins;  and  while  she  makes  many  insinuations  about  her 
rival,  tells  us  she  knows  her  features  have  few  charms. 
Meanwhile,  she  assures  us  that  neither  good  looks  nor  sweet 
smiles  make  good  mothers.  "  Nicholas  !  "  she  exclaims, 
"  come  here  ;  the  gentlemen  want  to  know  all  about  papa." 
And,  as  she  extends  her  hand,  the  child  answers  the 
summons,  runs  across  the  room,  fondles  his  head  in  his 
mother's  lap, — seems  ashamed ! 


CHAPTER  II. 

HOW  A  NIGHT  WAS  SPENT  ON  MARSTON's  PLANTATION. 

EABTH  is  mantled  \vitli  richest  verdure ;  far  away  to  the 
west  and  south  of  the  mansion  the  scene  stretches  out  in 
calm  grandeur.  The  sun  sinks  beneath  glowing  clouds  that 
crirr.son  the  horizon  and  spread  refulgent  shadows  on 
the  distant  hills,  as  darkness  slowly  steals  its  way  on  the 
mellow  landscape. 

Motley  groups  of  negroes  are  returned  from  the  field, 
fires  are  lighted  in  and  about  the  cabins,  and  men  mutter 
their  curious  jargon  while  moving  to  prepare  the  coarse 
meal.  Their  anxious  countenances  form  a  picture  wild 
and  deeply  interesting. 

Entering  Marston's  mansion,  we  find  its  interior  neater,  \ 
than  its  weather-stained  and  paintless  sides  portended.  } 
Through  the  centre  runs  a  broad  passage,  and  on  the  left' 
and  right  are  large  parlours,  comfortably  furnished,  divided 
by  folding  doors  of  carved  walnut.  "We  are  ushered  into 
the  one  on  the  right  by  a  yellow  servant,  who,  neatly 
dressed  in  black,  has  prepared  his  politeness  for  the 
occasion.  With  great  suavity,  accompanied  by  a  figurative 
grin,  he  informs  us  that  master  will  pay  his  respects 
presently.  Pieces  of  singularly  antique  furniture  are 
arranged  round  the  room,  of  which,  he  adds,  master  is 
proud  indeed.  Two  plaster  figures,  standing  in  dingy 
niches,  he  tells  us  are  wonders  of  the  white  man's  genius. 
In  his  own  random  style  he  gives  us  an  essay  on  the  arts, 
adding  a  word  here  and  there  to  remind  us  of  inaster's 
exquisite  taste,  and  anxiously  waits  our  confirmation  of 
what  he  says. 

A  large  open  fire-place,  with  fancifully  carved  frame 
work  and  mantel-pieces,  in  Italian  marble  of  polished 
blackness,  upon  which  stood  massive  silver  candlesticks, 
in  chased  work,  denotes  the  ancient  character  of  the 
mansion.  It  has  many  years  been  the  home  of  the  ever- 
hospitable  Marston  family. 
I 


12  HOW  A  NIGHT  WAS  SPENT  ON 

In  another  part  of  the  room  is  a  mahogany  side-board  of 
antique  pattern,  upon  which  stand  sundry  bottles  and 
glasses,  indicative  of  Marston  having  entertained  company 
in  the  morning.  While  we  are  contemplating  the  furniture 
around  us,  and  somewhat  disappointed  at  the  want  of  taste 
displayed  in  its  arrangement,  the  door  opens,  and  Sain,  the 
yellow  servant,  bows  Marston  in  with  a  gracious  smile.  It 
is  in  the  south  where  the  polite  part  is  played  by  the  negro. 
Deacon  Rosebrook  and  Elder  Pemberton  Praiseworthy,  a 
man  of  the  world,  follow  Marston  into  the  room.  Marston 
is  rather  tall  of  figure,  robust,  and  frank  of  countenance. 
A  florid  face,  and  an  extremely  large  nose  bordering  on  the 
red,  at  times  give  him  an  aldermanic  air.  He  rubs  his  fingers 
through  the  short,  sandy-coloured  hair  that  bristles  over  a 
low  forehead  (Tom,  the  barber,  has  just  fritted  it)  smiles, 
and  introduces  us  to  his  friends.  He  is  vain— vanity  belongs 
to  the  slave  world — 'is  sorry  his  eyes  are  grey,  but  adds  an 
assurance  every  now  and  then  that  his  blood  is  of  the  very 
best  stock.  Lest  a  doubt  should  hang  upon  our  mind,  he 
asserts,  with  great  confidence,  that  grey  eyes  indicate  pure 
Norman  birth.  As  for  phrenology  !  he  never  believed  in  a 
single  bump,  and  cites  his  own  contracted  forehead  as  the 
very  strongest  proof  against  the  theory.  Indeed,  there  is 
nothing  remarkable  in  our  host's  countenance,  if  we  except 
its  floridness;  but  a  blunt  nose  protruding  over  a  wide 
mouth  and  flat  chin  gives  the  contour  of  his  face  an  expres 
sion  not  the  most  prepossessing.  He  has  been  heard  to 
say,  "A  man  who  didn't  love  himself  wasn't  worth  loving:" 
and,  to  show  his  belief  in  this  principle  of  nature,  he  adorns 
his  face  with  thick  red  whiskers,  not  the  most  pleasing  to 
those  unaccustomed  to  the  hairy  follies  of  a  fashionable 
southron. 

Times  are  prosperous  ;  the  plantation  puts  forth  its 
bounties,  and  Marston  withholds  noiliing  that  can  make 
time  pass  pleasantly  with  those  who  honour  him  with  a 
visit.  He  is  dressed  in  an  elaborately  cut  black  coat,  with 
sweeping  skirts,  a  white  vest,  fancy-coloured  pantaloons, 
and  bright  boots.  About  his  neck  is  an  enormous  shirt 
collar,  turned  carelessly  over,  and  secured  with  a  plain  black 
ribbon.  Elder  Praiseworthy  is  of  lean  figure,  with  sharp, 
craven  features.  The  people  of  the  parish  have  a  doubtful 
opinion  of  him.  Some  say  he  will  preach  sermons  setting 


M!AHSXO5J'3  PLANTATION.  13 

forth  the  divine  right  of  slavery,  or  any  other  institution 
that  has  freedom  for  its  foe,  provided  always  there  is  no 
lack  of  pay.  As  a  divine,  he  is  particularly  sensitive  lest 
anything  should  be  said  disparagingly  against  the  institution 
he  lends  his  aid  to  protect.  That  all  institutions  founded 
in  patriarchal  usage  are  of  God's  creation,  he  holds  to  be 
indisputable ;  and  that  working  for  their  overthrow  is  a 
great  crime,  as  well  as  an  unpardonable  sin,  he  never  had  the 
slightest  doubt.  He  is  careful  of  his  clerical  dress,  which 
is  of  smoothest  black ;  and  remembering  how  essential  are 
gold-framed  spectacles,  arranges  and  re-arranges  his  with 
-  greatest  care.  He  is  a  great  admirer  of  large  books  with 
gilt  edges  and  very  expensive  bindings.  They  show  to  best 
advantage  in  the  southern  parlour  library,  where  books  are 
rarely  opened.  To  say  the  Elder  is  not  a  man  of  great 
parts,  is  to  circulate  a  libel  of  the  first  magnitude.  Indeed, 
he  liked  big  books  for  their  solidity  ;  they  reminded  him  of 
great  thoughts  well  preserved,  and  souud  principles  more 
iirmly  established.  At  times  he  had  thought  they  were 
like  modern  democratic  rights,  linked  to  huge  comprehending 
faculties,  such  as  was  his  good  fortune  to  use  when  expound 
ing  state  rights  and  federal  obligations. 

Deacon  Kosebrook  is  a  comely,  fair- faced  man,  a  moderate 
thinker,  a  charitable  Christian,  a  very  good  man,  who  lets 
his  deeds  of  kindness  speak  of  him.  He  is  not  a  politician 
— no  !  he  is  a  better  quality  of  man,  has  filled  higher  stations. 
Nor  is  he  of  the  modernly  pious — that  is,  as  piety  professes 
itself  in  our  democratic  world,  where  men  use  it  more  as  a 
necessary  appliance  to  subdue  the  mind  thim  a  means  to 
improve  civilization.  But  he  was  always  cautious  in  giving 
expression  to  his  sentiments,  knowing  the  delicate  sensi 
bilities  of  those  he  had  to  deal  with,  and  fearing  lest  he 
might  spring  a  democratic  mine  of  very  illiberal  indignation. 

"  Come,  gentlemen  guests,  you  are  as  welcome  as  the 
showers,"  says  Marston,  in  a  stentorious  voice :  "  Be  seated  ; 
you  are  at  home  under  my  roof.  Yes,  the  hospitality  of 
my  plantation  is  at  your  service."  The  yellow  man  removes 
a  table  that  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  places  chairs 
around  it,  and  each  takes  his  seat. 

"  Pardon  me,  my  dear  Marston,  you  live  with  the  comfort 
of  a  nabob.  "Wealth  seems  to  spring  up  on  all  sides," 
returns  the  Deacon,  good-naturedly. 


14  HOW  A  NIGHT  WA.8  SPENT  ON 

"  And  so  I  think,"  joins  the  Elder :  "  the  pleasures  of  the 
plantation  are  manifold,  swimming  along  from  day  to  day  ; 
but  I  fear  there  is  one  thing  our  friend  has  not  yet 
considered." 

"  Pray  what  is  that  ?  Let  us  hear  it ;  let  us  hear  it. 
Perhaps  it  is  the  very  piety  of  nonsense,"  rejoined  Murston, 
quickly.  "  Dead  men  and  devils  are  always  haunting  us." 
The  Elder  draws  his  spectacles  from  his  pocket,  wipes  them 
with  his  silk  handkerchief,  adjusts  them,  on  his  nose,  and 
replies  with  some  effort,  "  The  Future." 

"Nothing  more?"  Marston  inquires,  quaintly:  "Never 
contented ;  riches  all  around  us,  favourable  prospects  for 
the  next  crop,  prices  stiff,  markets  good,  advices  from 
abroad  exciting.  Let  the  future  take  care  of  itself;  you 
are  like  all  preachers,  Elder,  borrowing  darkness  when  you 
can't  see  light." 

"  The  Elder,  so  full  of  allegory !"  whispers  the  Deacon. 
"He  means  a  moral  condition,  which  we  all  esteem  as  a 
source  of  riches  laid  up  in  store  for  the  future." 

"  I  discover ;  but  it  never  troubles  me  while  I  take  care 
of  others.  I  pray  for  my  negro  property — pray  loudly  and 
long.  And  then,  their  piety  is  a  charge  of  great  magnitude ; 
but  when  I  need  your  assistance  in  looking  after  it,  be 
assured  you  will  receive  an  extra  fee." 

"That's  personal — personal,  decidedly  personal." 

"  Quite  the  reverse,"  returns  Marston,  suddenly  smiling, 
and,  placing  his  elbows  on  the  table,  rests  his  face  on  his 
hands.  "  Religion  is  well  in  its  place,  good  on  simple 
minds  ;  just  the  thing  to  keep  vassals  in  their  places  :  that's 
[  why  I  pay  to  have  it  talked  to  my  property.  Elder,  I 
|  get  the  worth  of  my  money  in  seeing  the  excitement  my 
fellows  get  into  by  hearing  you  preach  that  old  worn-out 
sermon.  You've  preached  it  to  them  so  long,  they  have 
got  it  by  heart.  Only  impress  the  rascals  that  it's  God's 
will  they  should  labour  for  a  life,  and  they'll  stick  to  it  like 
Trojans:  they  are  just  like  pigs,  sir." 

"  You  don't  comprehend  me,  my  friend  Marston :  I 
mean  that  you  should  prepare — it's  a  rule  applicable  to  all — 
to  meet  the  terrible  that  may  come  upon  us  at  any  moment." 
The  Elder  is  fearful  that  he  is  not  quite  explicit  enough. 
He  continues  :  "  Well,  there  is  something  to  be  considered ;" 
— he  is  not  quite  certain  that  we  should  curtail  the  pleasurei? 


MABSTON'S  PLANTATION.  15 

of  this  life  by  binding  ourselves  with  the  dread  of  what  ia 
to  come.  "  Seems  as  if  we  owed  a  common  duty  to 
ourselves,"  he  ejaculates. 

The  conversation  became  more  exciting,  Marston 
facetiously  attempting  to  be  humorous  at  the  Elder's 
expense :  "  It  isn't  the  pleasure,  my  dear  fellow,  it's  the 
contentment.  AVe  were  all  born  to  an  end  ;  and  if  that  end 
be  to  labour  through  lite  for  others,  it  must  be  right. 
Everything  is  right  that  custom  has  established  right." 

"  Marston,  give  us  your  hand,  my  friend.  'Twould  do  to 
plead  so  if  we  had  no  enemies,  but  enemies  are  upon  us, 
watching  our  movements  through  partizans'  eyes,  full  of 
fierceness,  and  evil  to  misconstruct." 

"  I  care  not,"  interrupts  Marston.  "  My  slaves  are  my 
property — I  shall  do  with  them  as  it  pleases  me  ;  no 
insinuations  about  morality,  or  I  shall  mark  you  on  an  old 
score.  Do  you  sound  ?  Good  Elders  should  be  good  men ; 
but  they,  as  well  as  planters,  have  their  frailties  ;  it  would  not 
do  to  tell  them  all,  lest  high  heaven  should  cry  out." 
Marston  points  his  finger,  and  laughs  heartily.  "  I  wish  we 
had  seven  lives  to  live,  and  they  were  all  as  happy  as  most 
of  our  planters  could  desire  to  make  them." 

The  Elder  understood  the  delicate  hint,  but  desiring  to 
avoid  placing  himself  in  an  awkward  position  before  the 
Deacon,  began  to  change  the  conversation,  criticising  the 
merits  of  several  old  pictures  hung  upon  the  walls.  They 
were  much  valued  by  Marston,  as  mementoes  of  his  ancestry  : 
of  this  the  Elder  attempted  in  vain  to  make  a  point. 
During  this  conversation,  so  disguised  in  meaning,  the 
mulatto  servant  stood  at  the  door  waiting  Marston's 
commands.  Soon,  wine  and  refreshments  were  brought  in, 
and  spread  out  in  old  plantation  style.  The  company  had 
scarcely  filled  glasses,  when  a  rap  sounded  at  the  hall  door : 
a  servant  hastened  to  announce  a  carriage  ;  and  in  another  • 
minute  was  ushered  into  the  room  the  graceful  figure  of  a 
young  lady  whose  sweet  and  joyous  countenance  bespoke 
the  absence  of  care.  She  was  followed  by  a  genteelly- 
dressed  young  man  of  straight  person  and  placid  features. 

"  Oh !  Franco nia,"  said  Marston,  rising  from  his  seat, 
grasping  her  hand  affectionately,  and  bestowing  a  kiss  on 
her  fair  cheek,  for  it  was  fair  indeed. 

Taking  her  right  hand  in  his  left,  he  added,  "  My  niece, 


16  HOW  A  KIGHT  WAS  SPENT  ON 

gentlemen  ;  my  brother's  only  daughter,  and  nearly  spoiled 
with  attentions."  A  pleasant  smile  stole  over  her  face,  as 
gracefully  she  acknowledged  the  compliment.  In  another 
minute  three  or  four  old  negroes,  moved  by  the  exuberance 
of  their  affection  for  her,  gathered  about  her.  contending 
with  anxious  faces  for  the  honour  of  seeing  her  comfortable. 

'•I  love  her!"  continued  Marston ;  "and,  as  well  as  she 
could  a  father,  she  loves  me,  making  time  pass  pleasantly 
with  her  cheerfulness."  She  was  the  child  of  his  affections  ; 
and  as  he  spoke  his  face  glowed  with  animation.  Scarce 
seventeen  summers  had  bloomed  upon  his  fair  niece,  who, 
though  well  developed  in  form,  was  of  a  delicate  constitu 
tion,  and  had  inherited  that  sensitiveness  so  peculiar  to  the 
child  of  the  South,  especially  she  who  has  been  cradled  in 
the  nursery  of  ease  and  refinement.  As  she  spoke,  smiled, 
and  raised  her  jewelled  fingers,  the  grace  accompanying  the 
words  was  expressive  of  love  and  tenderness.  Turning  to 
the  gentleman  who  accompanied  her,  "  My  friend !"  she 
added,  simply,  with  a  frolicsome  laugh.  A  dozen  anxious 
black  faces  were  now  watching  in  the  hall,  ready  to  scamper 
round  her  ere  she  made  her  appearance  to  say,  "Howde'h  !" 
to  young  Missus,  and  get  a  glimpse  at  her  stranger  friend. 
After  receiving  a  happv  salute  from  the  old  servants,  she 
re-enters  the  room.  "  Uncle's  always  drinking  wine  when 
I  come  ; — but  Uncle  forgets  me ;  he  has  not  so  much  a3 
once  asked  me  to  join  him  !"  She  lays  her  hand  on  his  arm 
pla\  fully,  smiles  cunningly,  points  reproachfully  at  the 
Elder,  and  takes  a  seat  at  her  uncle's  side.  The  wine  has 
seized  the  Elder's  mind  ;  he  stares  at  her  through  hia 
spectacles,  and  holds  his  glass  with  his  left  hand. 

"  Come,  Dandy,"  said  Marston,  addressing  himself  to 
the  mulatto  attendant,  "  bring  a  glass  ;  she  shall  join  us." 
The  glass  is  brought,  Marston  fills  it,  she  bows,  they  drink 
to  her  and  to  the  buoyant  spirits  of  the  noble  southern 
lady.  "I  don't  admire  the  habit ;  but  I  do  like  to  please 
so;"  she  whispers,  and,  excusing  herself,  skips  into  the 
parlour  on  the  right,  where  she  is  again  beset  by  the  old 
servants,  who  rush  to  her,  shake  her  hand,  cling  playfully 
to  her  dress :  some  present  various  new-plucked  flowers 
others  are  become  noisy  with  their  chattering  jargon.  At 
length  she  is  so  beset  with  the  display  of  their  affection  as 
to  be  compelled  to  break  away  from  them,  and  call  for 


MABSTON'S  PLANTATION.  17 

Clotilda.  "  I  must  have  Clotilda  !"  she  says :  "  TeU  her 
to  come  soon,  Dandy :  she  alone  can  arrange  my  dress." 
Thus  saying,  she  disappeared  up  a  winding  stair  leading  from 
the  hall  into  the  second  story. 

We  were  anxious  to  know  who  Clotilda  was,  and  why 
Franconia  should  summon  her  with  so  much  solicitude. 
Presently  a  door  opened :  Franconia  appeared  at  the  top  of 
the  stairs,  her  face  glowing  with  vivacity,  her  hair  dishevelled 
waving  in  beautiful  confusion,  giving  a  fascination  to  her 
person.  "  I  do  wish  she  would  come,  I  do !"  she  mutters, 
resting  her  hands  upon  the  banisters,  and  looking  intently 
into  the  passage  :  "  she  thinks  more  of  fussing  over 
Annette's  hair,  than  she  does  about  taking  care  of  mine. 
Well,  I  won't  get  cross — I  won't!  Poor  Clotilda,  I  do  like 
her ;  I  can't  help  it ;  it  is  no  more  than  natural  that  she 
should  evince  so  much  solicitude  for  her  child :  we  would 
do  the  same."  Scarcely  had  she  uttered  these  words,  when 
the  beautiful  female  we  have  described  in  the  foregoing 
chapter  ran  from  her  cabin,  across  the  yard,  into  the 
mansion.  "  Where  is  young  Miss  Franconia  ?"  she  in 
quires  ;  looks  hastily  around,  ascends  the  stairs,  greets 
Franconia  with  a  fervent  shake  of  the  hand,  commences 
adjusting  her  hair.  There  is  a  marked  similarity  in  their 
countenances :  it  awakens  our  reflections.  Had  Clotilda 
exhibited  that  exactness  of  toilet  for  which  Franconia  is 
become  celebrated,  she  would  excel  in  her  attractions. 
There  was  the  same  oval  face,  the  same  arched  brows  ;  there 
was  the  same  Grecian  contour  of  features,  the  same  sharply 
lined  nose ;  there  was  the  same  delicately  cut  mouth,  dis 
closing  white,  pearly  teeth ;  the  same  eyes,  now  glowing 
with  sentiment,  and  again  pensive,  indicating  thought  and 
tenderness ;  there  was  the  same  classically  moulded  bust,  a 
shoulder  slightly  converging,  of  beautiful  olive,  enriched 
by  a  dark  mole. 

Clotilda  would  fain  have  kissed  Francouia,  but  she  dare 
not.  "  Clotilda,  you  must  take  good  care  of  me  while  I 
make  my  visit.  Only  do  my  hair  nicely,  and  I  will  see  that 
Uncle  gets  a  new  dress  for  you  when  he  goes  to  the  city. 
If  Uncle  would  only  get  married,  how  much  happier 
it  would  be,"  say  a  Franconia,  looking  at  Clotilda  the 
while. 

"  And  me,  too, — I  would  be  happier !"  Clotilda  replies, 


18  HOW  A  NIGHT  WAS  SPENT  ON 

resting  her  arms  on  the  back  of  "Franconia's  lolling  chair,  as 
her  eyes  assumed  a  melancholy  glare.  She  heaved  a  sigh. 

"  You  could  not  be  happier  than  you  are  ;  you  are  well 
cared  for ;  Uncle  will  never  see  you  want  ;  but  you  must 
be  cheerful  when  I  come,  Clotilda, — you  must  I  To  see 
you  unhappy  makes  me  feel  unhappy." 

"  Cheerful ! — its  better  said  than  felt.  Can  he  or  she  be 
cheerful  who  is  forced  to  sin  against  God  and  himself? 
There  is  little  to  be  cheerful  with,  where  the  nature  is  not 
its  own.  Why  should  I  be  the  despised  wretch  at  your 
Uncle's  feet :  did  God,  the  great  God,  make  me  a  slave  to 
his  licentiousness  ? 

"  Suppress  such  feelings,  Clotilda ;  do  not  let  them  get 
the  better  of  you.  God  ordains  all  things :  it  is  well  to 
abide  by  His  will,  for  it  is  sinful  to  be  discontented, 
especially  where  everything  is  so  well  provided.  Why, 
Uncle  has  learned  you  to  read,  and  even  to  write." 

"  Ah  !  that's  just  what  gave  me  light ;  through  it  I  knew 
that  I  had  a  life,  and  a  soul  beyond  that,  as  valuable  to  me 
as  yours  is  to  you." 

"  Be  careful,  Clotilda,"  she  interrupts ;  "  remember  there 
is  a  wide  difference  between  us.  Do  not  cross  Uncle ;  he 
is  kind,  but  he  may  get  a  freak  into  his  head,  and  sell  you." 

Clotilda's  cheeks  brightened ;  she  frowned  at  the  word, 
and,  giving  her  black  hair  a  toss  from  her  shoulder, 
muttered,  "  To  sell  me ! — Had  you  measured  the  depth  of 
pain  in  that  word,  Franconia,  your  lips  had  never  given  it 
utterance.  To  sell  me  ! — 'tis  that.  The  difference  is  wide 
indeed,  but  the  point  is  sharpest.  Was  it  my  mother  who 
made  that  point  so  sharp  ?  It  could  not !  a  mother  would 
not  entail  such  misery  on  her  offspring.  That  name,  so  full 
of  associations  dear  to  me — so  full  of  a  mother's  love  and 
tenderness, — could  not  reflect  pain.  Nay ;  her  affections 
were  bestowed  upon  me, — I  love  to  treasure  them,  I 
do.  To  tell  me  that  a  mother  would  entail  misery  without 
an  end,  is  to  tell  me  that  the  spirit  of  love  is  without 
good !" 

"  Do  not  make  yourself  unhappy,  Clotilda.  Perhaps  you 
are  as  well  with  us  as  you  would  be  elsewhere.  Even  at 
the  free  north,  in  happy  New  England,  ladies  would  not 
take  the  notice  of  you  we  do :  many  of  your  class  have  died 
there,  poor  and  wretched,  among  the  most  miserable 


MARSTON'S  PLANTATION.  19 

creatures  ever  born  to  a  sad  end.  And  you  are  not 
black " 

"  All  is  not  truth  that  is  told  for  such,"  Clotilda  inter 
rupts  Francouia.  "  If  I  were  black,  my  life  would  have  but 
one  stream  :  now  it  is  terrible  with  uncertainty.  As  I  am, 
niy  hopes  and  affections  are  blasted." 

"  Sit  down,  Clotilda,"  rejoins  Franconia,  quickly. 

Clotilda,  having  lavished  her  skill  on  Franconia's  hair, 
seats  herself  by  her  side.  Franconia  affectionately  takes 
her  tapering  hand  and  presses  it  with  her  jewelled  fingers. 
"  Remember,  Clotilda,"  she  continues,  "  all  the  negroes  on 
the  plantation  become  unhappy  at  seeing  you  fretful.  It  is 
well  to  seem  happy,  for  its  influence  on  others.  Uncle 
will  always  provide  for  Annette  and  you ;  and  he  is  kind. 
If  he  pays  more  attention  to  Ellen  at  times,  take  no  notice 
of  it.  Ellen  Juvarna  is  Indian,  moved  to  peculiarities  by 
the  instincts  of  her  race.  Uncle  is  imprudent,  I  admit ;  but 
society  is  not  with  us  as  it  is  elsewhere  !" 

"I  care  not  so  much  for  myself,"  speaks  the  woman,  in 
a  desponding  voice  ;  "  it  is  Annette  ;  and  when  you  spoke 
of  her  you  touched  the  chord  of  all  my  troubles.  I  can 
endure  the  sin  forced  upon  myself;  but,  O  heavens!  how 
can  I  butcher  my  very  thoughts  with  the  unhappy  life  that 
is  before  her?  My  poor  mother's  words  haunt  me.  I 
know  her  feelings  now,  because  I  can  judge  them  by  my 
own — can  see  how  her  broken  heart  was  crushed  into  the 
grave  !  She  kissed  my  hand,  and  said,  '  Clotilda,  my  child, 
you  are  born  to  a  cruel  death.  Give  me  but  a  heart  to  meet 
my  friends  in  judgment !' " 

The  child  with  the  flaxen  hair,  humming  a  tune,  came 
scampering  up  the  stairs  into  the  room.  It  recognises 
Franconia,  and,  with  a  sportive  laugh,  runs  to  her  and 
fondles  in  her  lap ;  then,  turning  to  its  mother,  seems 
anxious  to  divide  its  affections  between  them.  Its  features 
resembled  Franconia's — the  similarity  was  unmistakeable  ; 
and  although  she  fondled  it,  talked  with  it,  and  smoothed 
its  little  locks,  she  resisted  its  attempts  to  climb  on  her 
knee  :  she  was  cold. 

"  Mother  says  I  look  like  you,  and  so  does  old  Aunt 
Kachel,  Miss  Franconia — they  do,"  whispers  the  child, 
shyly,  as  it  twisted  its  fingers  round  the  rings  on  Fran- 


20  HOW  A  NIGHT  WAS  SPENT  ON 

conia's  hand.  Fraueoriia  blushed,  and  cast  an  inquiring 
look  at  Clotilda. 

"  Ton  must  not  be  naughty,"  she  snys ;  "  those  black 
imps  you  play  with  arouiid  Aunt  Rachel's  cabin  teach  you 
wrong.  You  must  be  careful  with  her,  Clotilda ;  never 
allow  her  to  say  such  tilings  to  white  people  :  she  may  use 
such  expressions  before  strangers, — which  would  be  ex 
tremely  painful " 

"  It  seems  too  plain  :  if  there  be  no  social  sin,  why  fear 
the  degradation  P"  she  quietly  interrupts.  "  Ton  cannot 
keep  it  from  the  child.  O,  how  I  should  like  to  know  my 
strange  history,  Francouia, — to  know  if  it  can  be  that  I  was 
born  to  such  cruel  misfortunes,  such  bitter  heart-achings, 
such  gloomy  forebodings.  If  I  were,  then  am  I  content 
with  my  lot." 

Fraucouia  listened  attentively,  saw  the  anguish  that  was 
bursting  the  bounds-  of  the  unhappy  woman's  feelings,  and 
interrupted  by  saying,  "  Speak  of  it  no  more,  Clotilda. 
Take  your  child  ;  go  to  your  cabin.  I  shall  stay  a  few  days : 
to-morrow  I  will  visit  you  there."  As  she  spoke,  she 
waved  her  hand,  bid  Clotilda  good  night,  kissing  Annette 
as  she  was  led  down  stairs.  Now  alone,  she  begins  to  con 
template  the  subject  more  deeply.  It  must  be  wrong,  she 
says  to  herself:  but  few  are  brought  to  feel  it  who  have  the 
power  to  remove  it.  The  poor  creature  seems  so  unhappy  ; 
and  my  feelings  are  pained  when  they  tell  me  how  much 
she  looks  like  me, — and  it  must  be  so  ;  for  when  she  sat  by 
my  side,  looking  in  the  glass  the  portrait  of  similarity 
touched  my  feelings  deeply.  'Tis  not  the  thing  for  Uncle 
to  live  in  this  way.  Here  am  I,  loved  and  beloved,  with 
the  luxury  of  wealth,  and  friends  at  my  pleasure ;  1  am 
caressed:  she  is  but  born  a  wretch  to  serve  my  Uncle's 
vanity ;  and,  too,  were  I  to  reproach  him,  he  would  laugh  at 
what  he  calls  our  folly,  our  sickly  sensitiveness ;  he  would 
tell  me  of  the  pleasures  of  southern  life,  southern  scenery, 
southern  chivalry,  southern  refinement ; — yes,  he  would  tell 
me  how  it  were  best  to  credit  the  whole  to  southern 
liberality  of  custom  : — so  it  continues !  There  is  a  prin 
ciple  to  be  served  after  all :  he  says  we  are  not  sent  into 
the  world  to  excommune  ourselves  from  its  pleasures. 
This  may  be  good  logic,  for  I  own  I  don't  believe  with 


MARSTON'S  PLANTATION.  21 

those  who  want  the  world  screwed  up  into  a  religious  vice ; 
but  pleasure  is  divided  into  so  many  different  qualities,  one 
hardly  knows  which  suits  best  now-a-days.  Philosophers 
say  we  should  avoid  making  pleasure  of  that  which  can  give 
pain  to  others ;  but  philosophers  say  so  many  things,  and 
give  so  much  advice  that  we  never  think  of  following. 
Uncle  has  a  standard  of  his  own.  I  do,  however,  wish 
southern  society  would  be  more  circumspect,  looking  upon 
morality  in  its  proper  light.  Its  all  doubtful !  doubtful ! 
doubtful  !  There  is  Elder  Pemberton  Praiseworthy  ;  he 
preaches,  preaches,  preaches  ! — his  preaching  is  to  live,  not 
to  die  by.  I  do  pity  those  poor  negroes,  who,  notwithstand 
ing  their  impenetrable  heads,  are  bored  to  death  every 
Sunday  with  that  selfsame  sermon.  Such  preaching,  such 
strained  effort,  such  machinery  to  make  men  pious, — it's  as 
soulless  as  a  well.  I  don't  wonder  the  world  has  got  to  be 
BO  very  wicked,  when  the  wickedness  of  the  slavery  church 
has  become  so  sublime.  And  there's  Uncle,  too, — he's  been 
affected  just  in  that  way;  hearing  pious  discourses  to  uphold 
that  which  in  his  soul  he  knew  to  be  the  heaviest  wicked 
ness  the  world  groaned  under,  he  has  come  to  look  upon 
religion  as  if  it  were  a  commodity  too  stale  for  him.  He 
sees  the  minister  of  God's  Word  a  mere  machine  of  task, 
paid  to  do  a  certain  amount  of  talking  to  negroes,  endea 
vouring  to  impress  their  simple  minds  with  the  belief  that  * 
it  is  God's  will  they  should  be  slaves.  And  this  is  all  for  | 
necessity's  sake !"  In  this  musing  mood  she  sits  rocking  j 
iu  her  chair,  until  at  length,  overcome  with  the  heat,  she 
reclines  her  head  against  the  cushion,  resigning  herself  to 
the  soothing  embrace  of  sweet  sleep. 

The  moon's  silver  rays  were  playing  on  the  calm  surface 
of  the  river,  the  foliage  on  its  banks  seemed  bathed  in  quiet 
repose,  the  gentle  breeze,  bearing  its  balmy  odours,  wafted 
through  the  arbour  of  oaks,  as  if  to  fan  her  crimson 
cheeks  ;  the  azalia  and  magnolia  combined  their  fragrance, 
impregnating  the  dew  falling  over  the  scene,  as  if  to 
mantle  it  with  beauty.  She  slept,  a  picture  of  southern 
beauty ;  her  auburn  tresses  in  undulating  richness  playing 
to  and  fro  upon  her  swelling  bosom, — how  developed  in  all 
its  delicacy! — her  sensitive  nature  made  more  lovely  by 
the  warmth  and  generosity  of  her  heart.  Still  she  slept, 
her  youthful  mind  overflowing  with  joy  and  buoyancy : 


22  HOW  A  NIGHT  WAS  SPENT  ON 

about  her  there  was  a  ravishing  simplicity  more  than 
earthly :  a  blush  upon  her  cheek  became  deeper, — it  was 
the  blush  of  love  Hashing  in  a  dream,  that  tells  its  tale 
in  nervous  vibrations,  adding  enchantment  to  sleeping 
voluptuousness  ; — and  yet  all  was  sacred,  an  envied  object 
no  rude  hand  dare  touch  ! 

Pranconia  had  been  educated  at  the  north,  in  a  land 
where — God  bless  the  name — Puritanism  is  not  quite  ex 
tinct  ;  and  through  the  force  of  principles  there  inculcated 
had  outgrown  much  of  that  feeling  which,  at  the  south 
admits  to  be  right  what  is  basely  wrong.  She  hesitated  to 
reproach  Marston  with  the  bad  effect  of  his  life,  but  re 
solved  on  endeavouring  to  enlist  Clotilda's  confidence,  and 
learn  how  far  her  degraded  condition  affected  her  feelings. 
She  saw  her  with  the  same  proud  spirit  that  burned  in  her 
own  bosom ;  the  same  tenderness,  the  same  affection  for  her 
child,  the  same  hopes  and  expectations  for  the  future,  and 
its  rewards.  The  question  was,  what  could  be  done  for 
Clotilda  ?  Was  it  better  to  reason  with  her, — to,  if  possible, 
make  her  happy  in  her  condition  ?  Custom  had  sanctioned 
many  unrighteous  inconsistencies  :  they  were  southern, 
nothing  more !  She  would  intercede  with  her  Uncle,  she 
would  have  him  sign  free  papers  for  Clotilda  and  her  child ; 
she  saw  a  relationship  which  the  law  could  not  disguise, 
though  it  might  crush  out  the  natural  affections.  With  these 
thoughts  passing  in  her  mind,  her  imagination  wandered 
until  she  dropped  into  the  sleep  we  have  described. 

There  she  slept,  the  blushes  suffusing  her  cheeks,  until 
old  Aunt  ."Rachel,  puffing  and  blowing  like  an  exhausting 
engine,  entered  the  room.  Aunty  is  the  pink  of  a  plantation 
mother :  she  is  as  black  as  the  blackest,  has  a  face  em 
bodying  all  the  good-nature  of  the  plantation,  boasts  of 
her  dimensions,  which  she  says  are  six  feet,  well  as  anybody 
proportioned.  Her  head  is  done  up  in  a  flashy  bandana, 
the  points  nicely  crosslain,  and  extending  an  elaborate 
distance  beyond  her  ears,  nearly  covering  the  immense 
circular  riugs  that  hang  from  them.  Her  gingham  dress, 
starched  just  so,  her  whitest  white  apron,  never  worn 
before  missus  come,  sets  her  off  to  great  advantage.  Aunty 
is  a  good  piece  of  property — tells  us  how  many  hundred 
dollars  there  is  in  her — feels  that  she  has  been  promoted 
because  Mas'r  told  somebody  he  would  not  take  a  dollar 


FRANCONIA  SLEEPING. 


'If  young  missus  aint  nappin'  just  so  nice  !    I  likes  to  cotch  'em  just  so.1 


MARSTON'S  PLANTATION.  23 

less  for  her.  She  can  superintend  the  domestic  affairs  of 
the  mansion  just  as  well  as  anybody.  In  one  hand  she 
bears  a  cup  of  orange-grove  coffee,  in  the  other  a  fan,  made 
of  palmetto-leaves. 

"  Gi'h — e — you!"  she  exclaimed.  "If  young  missus  aint 
nappiii'  just  so  nice !  I  likes  to  cotch  'em  just  so  ;"  and 
setting  her  tray  upon  a  stand,  she  views  Franconia  intently, 
and  in  the  exuberance  of  her  feelings  seats  herself  in  front 
of  her  chair,  fanning  her  with  the  palmetto.  The  inqui 
sitive  and  affectionate  nature  of  the  good  old  slave  was 
here  presented  in  its  purity.  Nothing  can  be  stronger, 
nothing  show  the  existence  of  happy  associations  more 
forcibly.  The  old  servant's  attachment  is  proverbial, — his 
enthusiasm  knows  no  bounds, — Mas'r's  comfort  absorbs  all 
his  thoughts.  Here,  Aunt  Rachel's  feelings  rose  beyond 
her  power  of  restraint :  she  gazed  on  her  young  missus 
with  admiration,  laughed,  fanned  her  more  and  more ;  then 
grasping  her  little  jewelled  hand,  pressed  it  to  her  spacious 
mouth  and  kissed  it.  "  Young  Missus  !  Franconia,  I  does 
lub  ye  so  !"  she  whispers. 

"Why,  Aunt  Eachel!"  ejaculated  Franconia,  starting 
suddenly :  "  I  am  glad  you  wakened  me,  for  I  dreamed  of 
trouble:  it  made  me  weak — nervous.  Where  is  Clotilda?" 
And  she  stared  vacantly  round  the  room,  as  if  unconscious 
of  her  position.  "  Guess  'e  aint  'bout  nowhere.  Te  see, 
Miss,  how  she  don't  take  no  care  on  ye, — takes  dis  child  to 
stir  up  de  old  cook,  when  ye  comes  to  see  us."  And 
stepping  to  the  stand  she  brings  the  salver;  and  in  her 
excitement  to  serve  Missus,  forgets  that  the  coffee  is  cold. 
"  Da'h  he  is  ;  just  as  nice  as  'em  get  in  de  city.  E-achel 
made  'em !" 

"  I  want  Clotilda,  Eachel ;  you  must  bring  her  to  me.  I 
was  dreaming  of  her  and  Annette ;  and  ehe  can  tell 
dreams- — 

The  old  slave  interrupts  her.  "  If  Miss  Franconia  hab 
had  dream,  'e  bad,  sartiu.  Old  Mas'r  spoil  dat  gal,  Clotilda, 
— make  her  tink  she  lady,  anyhow.  She  mos'  white,  fo'h 
true ;  but  aint  no  better  den  oder  nigger  on  de  plantation," 
she  returns.  Franconia  sips  her  coffee,  takes  a  waf  from 
the  plate  as  the  old  servant  holds  it  before  her,  and  orders 
Dandy  to  summon  Clotilda. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THINGS  ARE  NOT  SO  BRIGHT  AS  THEY  SEEM. 

THE  following  morning  broke  forth  bright  and  serene. 
Marston  and  his  guests,  after  passing  a  pleasant  night,  were 
early  at  breakfast.  When  over,  they  joined  him  for  a  stroll 
over  the  plantation,  to  hear  him  descant  upon  the  prospects 
of  the  coming  crop.  Nothing  could  be  more  certain,  to  his 
mind,  than  a  bountiful  harvest.  The  rice,  cotton,  and  corn 
grounds  had  been  well  prepared,  the  weather  was  most 
favourable,  he  had  plenty  of  help,  a  good  overseer,  and 
faithful  drivers.  "  We  have  plenty, — we  live  easy,  you  see, 
and  our  people  are  contented,"  he  says,  directing  his  con 
versation  to  the  young  Englishman,  who  was  suspected  of 
being  Franconia's  friend.  "  Vie  do  things  different  from 
what  you  do  in  your  country.  Your  countrymen  will  not 
learn  to  grow  cotton  :  they  manufacture  it,  and  hence  we  are 
connected  in  firm  bonds.  Cotton  connects  many  things, 
even  men's  minds  and  souls.  You  would  like  to  be  a 
planter,  I  know  you  would :  who  would  not,  seeing  how 
we  live  ?  Here  is  the  Elder,  as  happy  a  fellow  as  you'll 
find  in  forty.  He  can  be  as  jolly  as  an  Englishman  over 
a  good  dinner:  he  can  think  with  anybody,  preach  with 
anybody  !"  Touching  the  Elder  on  the  shoulder,  he  smiles, 
and  with  an  insinuating  leer,  smooths  his  beard.  "  I  am  at 
your  service,"  replies  the  Elder,  folding  his  arms. 

"  I  pay  him  to  preach  for  my  nigger  property, — I  pay 
him  to  teach  them  to  be  good.  He  preaches  just  as  I  wants 
him  to.  My  boys  think  him  a  little  man,  but  a  great  divine. 
You  would  like  to  hear  the  Elder  on  Sunday  ;  he's  funny 
then,  and  has  a  very  funny  sermon,  which  you  may  get  T>y 
heart  without  much  exertion.".  The  young  man  seems 
indifferent  to  the  conversation.  He  had  not  been  taught  to 
realise  how  easy  it  was  to  bring  religion  into  contempt. 

"  Make  no  grave  charges  against  me,  Marston;  you  carry 
your  practical  jokes  a  little  too  far,  Sir.  I  am  a  quiet  man, 


THINGS  AEE  NOT  SO  BEIGHT  AS  THEY  SEEM.  25 

but  the  feelings  of  quiet  men  may  be  disturbed."  The 
Elder  speaks  moodily,  as  if  considering  whether  it  were  best 
to  resent  Marston's  trifling  sarcasm.  Deacon  Rosebrook 
now  interceded  by  saying,  with  unruffled  countenance,  that 
the  Elder  had  but  one  thing  funny  about  him, — his  dignity 
on  Sundays  :  that  he  was,  at  times,  half  inclined  to  believe 
it  the  dignity  of  cogniac,  instead  of  pious  sentiment. 

"  I  preach  my  sermon, — who  can  do  more  ?"  the  Elder 
rejoins,  with  seeming  concern  for  his  honour.  "I  thought 
we  came  to  view  the  plantation  ?" 

"  Yes,  true  ;  but  our  little  repartee  cannot  stop  our  sight. 
You  preach  your  sermon,  Elder, — that  is,  you  preach  what 
there  is  left  of  it.  It  is  one  of  the  best-used  sermons  ever 
manufactured.  It  would  serve  as  a  model  for  the  most 
stale  Oxonian.  Do  you  think  you  could  write  another 
like  it  ?  It  has  lasted  seven  years,  and  served  the  means 
of  propitiating  the  gospel  on  seven  manors.  Can  they 
beat  that  in  your  country  ?"  says  Mars  ton,  again  turning 
to  the  young  Englishman!,  and  laughing  at  the  Elder,  who 
was  deliberately  taking  off  his  glasses  to  wipe  the  perspira 
tion  from  his  forehead. 

"  Our  ministers  have  a  different  way  of  patching  up  old 
sermons ;  but  I'm  not  quite  sure  about  their  mode  ot 
getting  them,"  the  young  man  replies,  takes  Deacon  Eose 
brook'  s  arm,  and  walks  ahead. 

"  The  Elder  must  conform  to  the  doctrines  of  the  South ; 
but  they  say  he  bets  at  the  race-course,  which  is  not  an 
uncommon  thing  for  our  divines,"  rejoins  the  Deacon, 
facetiously. 

The  Elder,  becoming  seriously  inclined,  thinks  gentlemen 
had  better  avoid  personalities.  Personalities  are  not  tolerated 
in  the  South,  where  gentlemen  are  removed  far  above 
common  people,  and  protect  themselves  by  the  code  duello. 
He  will  expose  Marston. 

Marston's  good  capon  sides  are  proof  against  jokes.  He 
may  crack  on,  that  individual  says. 

"  My  friend,"  interposed  the  Elder,  "  you  desired  me  to 
preach  to  your  niggers  in  one  style  and  for  one  purpose, — 
according  to  the  rule  of  labour  and  submission.  Just  such 
an  one  as  your  niggers  would  think  the  right  stripe,  I 
preached,  and  it  made  your  niggers  wonder  and  gape.  I'll 
pledge  you  my  religious  faith  I  can  preach  a  different " 


26       THINGS  ARK  NOT  SO  BRIGHT  AS  THEY  SEEM. 

"Oh!  oli!  oh!  Elder,"  interrupted  Marston,  "pledge 
something  valuable." 

"  To  me,  my  faith  is  the  most  sacred  thing  in  the  world. 
I  will — as  I  was  going  to  say — preach  to  your  moulding 
and  necessities.  Pay  for  it,  and,  on  my  word,  it  shall  be 
in  the  cause  of  the  South !  With  the  landmarks  from  my 
planter  customers,  I  will  follow  to  their  liking,"  continues 
Elder  Pemberton  Praiseworthy,  not  a  smile  on  his  .hard 
face. 

Deacon  Rosebrook  thinks  it  is  well  said.  Pay  is  the 
great  desideratum  in  everything.  The  Elder,  though  not 
an  uncommon  southern  clergyman,  is  the  most  versatile 
preacher  to  be  met  with  in  a  day's  walk.  Having  a 
wonderful  opinion  of  nigger  knowledge,  he  preaches  to  it 
in  accordance,  receiving  good  pay  and  having  no  objection 
to  the  wine. 

"Well,  Gentlemen,"  Marston  remarks,  coolly,  "  I  think 
the  Elder  has  borne  our  jokes  well ;  we  will  now  go  and 
moisten  our  lips.  The  elder  likes  my  old  Madeira — always 
passes  the  highest  compliments  upon  it."  Having  sallied 
about  the  plantation,  we  return  to  the  mansion,  where 
Dandy,  Enoch,  and  Sam — three  well-dressed  mulattoes— 
their  hair  frizzed  and  their  white  aprons  looking  so  bright, 
meet  us  at  the  veranda,  and  bow  us  back  into  the  parlour, 
as  we  bear  our  willing  testimony  of  the  prospects  of  the 
crop.  With  scraping  of  feet,  grins,  and  bows,  they  wel 
come  us  back,  smother  us  with  compliments,  and  seem 
overwilling  to  lavish  their  kindness.  Prom  the  parlour 
they  bow  us  into  a  long  room,  in  the  right  wing,  its  walls 
being  plain  boarded,  and  well  ventilated  with  open  seams. 
A  table  is  spread  with  substantial  edibles, — such  as  ham, 
bacon,  mutton,  and  fish.  These  represent  the  southern 
planter's  fare,  to  which  he  seldom  adds  those  pastry  deli 
cacies  with  which  the  New  Englander  is  prone  to  decorate 
his  table.  The  party  become  seated  as  Franconia  graces 
the  festive  board  with  her  presence,  which,  being  an  incen 
tive  of  gallantry,  preserves  the  nicest  decorum,  smooths 
the  conversation.  The  wine-cup  flows  freely ;  the  Elder 
dips  deeply — as  he  declares  it-  choice.  Temperance  being 
unpopular  in  the  south,  it  is  little  regarded  at  Marston's 
mansion.  As  for  Marston  himself,  he  is  merely  preparing 
the  way  to  play  facetious  jokes  on  the  Elder,  whose  arm  lie 


THINGS  ARE  NOT  SO  BRIGHT  AS  THEY  SEEM.  27 

touches  every  few  minutes,  reminding  him  how  backward 
he  is  in  replenishing  his  glass. 

Not  at  all  backward  in  such  matters,  the  Elder  fills  up, 
asks  the  pleasure  of  drinking  his  very  good  health,  and 
empties  the  liquid  into  the  safest  place  nearest  at  hand. 
Repeated  courses  have  their  effect ;  Marston  is  pleased,  the 
Elder  is  mellow.  With  muddled  sensibilities  his  eyes  glare 
wildly  about  the  table,  and  at  every  fresh  invitation  to  drink 
he  begs  pardon  for  having  neglected  his  duty,  fingers  the 
ends  of  his  cravat,  and  deposits  another  glass, — certainly  the 
very  last.  Franconia,  perceiving  her  uncle's  motive,  bega 
to  be  excused,  and  is  escorted  out  of  the  room.  Mr. 
Praiseworthy,  attempting  to  get  a  last  glass  of  wine  to  his 
lips  without  spilling,  is  quite  surprised  that  the  lady  should 
leave.  He  commences  descanting  on  his  own  fierce  enmity 
to  infidelity  and  Catholicism.  He  would  that  everybody 
rose  up  and  trampled  them  into  the  dust ;  both  are  ruinous 
to  negro  property. 

Marston  coolly  suggests  that  the  Elder  is  decidedly  un- 
catholicised. 

"  Elder,"  interrupted  Deacon  Rosebrook,  touching  him 
on  the  shoulder,  "  you  are  modestly  undone — that  is,  very 
respectably  sold  to  your  wine." 

"  Yes,"  rejoined  Marston  ;  "  I  would  give  an  extra  ten 
dollars  to  hear  him  preach  a  sermon  to  my  niggers  at  this 
moment." 

"  Villainous  inconsistency !  "  exclaimed  the  Elder,  in  an 
indistinct  voice,  his  eyes  half  closed,  and  the  spectacles 
gradually  falling  from  his  nose.  "  You  are  scandalising 
my  excellent  character,  which  can't  be  replaced  with  gold." 
Making  another  attempt  to  raise  a  glass  of  wine  to  his  lips, 
as  he  concluded,  he  unconsciously  let  the  contents  flow  into 
his  bosom,  instead  of  his  mouth. 

"  Well,  my  opinion  is,  Elder,  that  if  you  get  my  nigger 
property  into  heaven  with  your  preaching,  there'll  be  a 
chance  for  the  likes  of  me,"  said  Marston,  watching  the 
Elder  intently.  It  was  now  evident  the  party  were  all 
becoming  pretty  deeply  tinctured.  Eosebrook  thought  a 
minister  of  the  gospel,  to  get  in  "such  a  condition,  and  then 
refer  to  religious  matters,  must  have  a  soul  empty  to  the 
very  core.  There  could  be  no  better  proof  of  now  easily 
true  religion  could  be  brought  into  contempt.  The  Elder 
3 


28      THINGS  ABE  NOT  SO  BRIGHT  AS  THEY  SEEM. 

foreclosed  with  the  spirit,  considered  himself  unsafe  in  the 
chair,  and  was  about  to  relieve  it,  when  Dandy  caught  him  in 
his  arms  like  a  lifeless  mass,  and  carried  him  to  a  settee, 
upon  which  he  spread  him,  like  a  substance  to  be  bleached 
in  the  sun. 

"  Gentlemen !  the  Elder  is  completely  unreverenced, — he 
is  the  most  versatile  individual  that  ever  wore  black  cloth. 
1  reverence  him  for  his  qualities,"  says  Marston:  then,  turn 
ing  to  Maxwell,  he  continued,  "  you  must  excuse  this  little 
joviality ;  it  occurs  but  seldom,  and  the  southern  people  take 
it  for  what  it  is  worth,  excusing,  or  forgetting  its  effects." 

"Don't  speak  of  it — it's  not  unlike  our  English  do  at 
times — nor  do  our  ministers  form  exceptions ;  but  they 
do  such  things  under  a  monster  protection,  without  reckon 
ing  the  effect,''  the  Englishman  replied,  looking  round  as  if 
he  missed  the  presence  of  Franconia. 

The  Elder,  soon  in  a  profound  sleep,  was  beset  by  swarms 
of  mosquitoes  preying  upon  his  haggard  face,  as  if  it  were 
good  food.  "  He's  a  pretty  picture,"  says  Marston,  looking 
upon  the  sleeping  Elder  with  a  frown,  and  then  working 
his  fingers  through  bis  crispy  red  hair.  "  A  hard  subject 
for  the  student's  knife  he'll  make,  won't  he?"  To  add 
to  the  comical  appearance  of  the  reverend  gentleman, 
Marston,  rising  from  his  seat,  approached  him,  drew  the 
spectacles  from  his  pocket,  and  placed  them  on  the  tip  of  his 
nose,  adding  piquancy  to  his  already  indescribable  physiog 
nomy. 

"  Don't  you  think  this  is  carrying  the  joke  a  point  too 
far?"  asked  Deacon  JRosebrook,  who  had  been  some  time 
silently  watching  the  prostrate  condition  of  Elder  Pemberton 
Praiseworthy. 

Marston  shrugs  his  shoulders,  whispers  a  word  or  two  in 
the  ear  of  his  friend  Maxwell,  twirls  his  glass  upon  the 
table.  He  is  somewhat  cautious  how  he  gives  an  opinion 
on  such  matters,  having  previously  read  one  or  two  law 
books  ;  but  believes  it  does'nt  portray  all  things  just  right. 
He  has  studied  ideal  good — at  least  he  tells  us  so — if  he 
never  practises  it ;  finally,  he  is  constrained  to  admit  that 
this  'ere's  all  very  well  once  in  a  while,  but  becomes  tire 
some — especially  when  kept  up  as  strong  as  the  Elder  does 
it.  He  is  free  to  confess  that  southern  mankind  is 
curiously  constituted,  too  often  giving  license  to  revelries, 


THINGS  ABE  3TOT  SO  BEIGHT  AS  THEY  SEEM.  29 

but  condemning  those  who  fall  by  them.  He  feels  quite 
right  about  the  Elder's  preaching  being  just  the  chime  for 
his  nigger  property ;  but,  were  he  a  professing  Christian,  it 
would'nt  suit  him  by  fifty  per  cent.  There  is  something 
between  the  mind  of  a  "  nigger"  and  the  mind  of  a  white 
man, — something  he  can't  exactly  analyse,  though  he  is 
certain  it  is  wonderfully  different ;  and  though  such  preach 
ing  can  do  niggers  no  harm,  he  would  just  as  soon  think  of 
listening  to  Infidelity.  Painful  as  it  was  to  acknowledge 
the  fact,  he  only  appeared  at  the  "  Meet'n  House"  on 
Sundays  for  the  looks  of  the  thing,  and  in  the  hope  that  it 
might  have  some  influence  with  his  nigger  property. 
Several  times  he  had  been  heard  to  say  it  was  mere  machine- 
preaching — made  according  to  pattern,  delivered  according 
to  price,  by  persons  whose  heads  and  hearts  had  no  sym 
pathy  with  the  downcast. 

"  There's  my  prime  fellow  Harry ;  a  right  good  fellow, 
worth  nine  hundred,  nothing  short,  and  he  is  a  Christian 
in  conscience.  He  has  got  a  kind  of  a  notion  into  his  head 
about  being  a  divine,  tie  thinks,  in  the  consequence  of 
his  black  noddle,  that  he  can  preach  just  as  well  as  any 
body  ;  and,  believe  me,  he  can't  read  a  letter  in  the  book, — 
at  least,  1  don't  see  how  he  can.  True,  he  has  heard  the 
Elder's  sermon  so  often  that  he  has  committed  every  word 
of  it  to  memory, — can  say  it  off  like  a  plantation  song,  and 
no  mistake."  Thus  Marston  discoursed.  And  yet  he 
declared  that  nobody  could  fool  him  with  the  idea  of 
"  niggers"  having  souls :  they  were  only  mortal, — he  would 
produce  abundant  proof,  if  required. 

Deacon  Eosebrook  listened  attentively  to  this  part  of 
Marston' s  discourse.  "  The  task  of  proving  your  theory 
would  be  rendered  difficult  if  you  were  to  transcend  upon  the 
scale  of  blood,"  he  replied,  getting  up  and  spreading  his  hand 
kerchief  over  the  Elder's  face,  to  keep  off  the  mosquitoes. 

"  When  our  most  learned  divines  and  philosophers  are 
the  stringent  supporters  of  the  principle,  what  should  make 
the  task  difficult?  Nevertheless,  I  admit,  if  my  fellow 
Harry  could  do  the  preaching  for  our  plantation,  no  objec 
tions  would  be  interposed  by  me ;  on  the  contrary,  I  could 
make  a  good  speculation  by  it.  Harry  would  be  worth  two 
common  niggers  then.  Nigger  property,  christianised,  is 
the  most  valuable  of  property.  You  may  distinguish  a 


80  THINGS  ABE  NOT  SO  HEIGHT  AS  THEY  SEEM. 

christianised  nigger  in  a  moment ;  and  piety  takes  the 
stubborn  out  of  their  composition  better  than  all  the  cow 
hides  you  can  employ ;  and,  too,  it's  a  saving  of  time, 
considering  that  it  subdues  so  much  quicker,"  says  Marston, 
stretching  back  in  his  chair,  as  he  orders  Dandy  to  bring 
Harry  into  his  presence.  He  will  tell  them  what  he  knows 
about  preaching,  the  Elder's  sermon,  and  the  Bible ! 

Maxwell  smiles  at  such  singularly  out  of  place  remarks  on 
religion.  They  are  not  uncommon  in  the  south,  notwith 
standing. 

A  few  minutes  elapsed,  when  Dandy  opened  the  door, 
and  entered  the  room,  followed  by  a  creature— a  piece  of 
property!— in  which  the  right  of  a  soul  had  been  disputed,  not 
alone  by  Marston,  but  by  southern  ministers  and  southern 
philosophers.  The  thing  was  very  good-looking,  very 
black ; — it  had  straight  features,  differing  from  the  common 
African,  and  stood  very  erect. .  We  have  said  he  differed 
from  the  common  African — we  mean,  as  he  is  recognised 
through  our  prejudices.  His  forehead  was  bold  and  well- 
developed — his  hair  short,  thick  and  crispy,  eyes  keen  and 
piercing,  cheeks  regularly  declining  into  a  well-shaped 
mouth  and  chin.  Dejected  and  forlorn,  the  wretch  of  chance 
stood  before  them,  the  fares  of  a  burning  soul  glaring  forth 
from  his  quick,  wandering  eyes.  "There!"  exclaimed 
Marston.  "  See  that,"  pointing  at  his  extremes  ;  "  he  has 
foot  enough  for  a  brick-maker,  and  a  head  equal  to  a  deacon 
— no  insinuation,  my  friend,"  bowing  to  Deacon  Rosebrook. 
They  say  it  takes  a  big  head  to  get  into  Congress  ;  but  I'm 
afraid,  Harry,  I'd  never  get  there." 

The  door  again  opened,  and  another  clever-looking  old 
negro,  anxious  to  say  "  how  de  do  "  to  mas'r  and  his  visitors, 
made  his  appearance,  bowing,  and  keeping  time  with  his 
foot.  "  Oh,  here's  my  old  daddy — old  Daddy  Bob,  one  of 
the  best  old  niggers  on  the  plantation  ;  Harry  and  Bob  are 
my  deacons.  There, — stand  there,  Harry ;  tell  these 
gentlemen, — they  are  right  glad  to  see  you, — what  you 
know  about  Elder  Praiseworthy's  sermon,  and  what  you 
can  do  in  the  way  of  preaching,"  says  Marston,  laughing 
good-naturedly. 

"liather  a  rough  piece  of  property  to  make  a  preacher 
of,"  muttered  Maxwell. 

The  poor  fellow's   feet  were   encrusted  as  hard  as  an 


THINGS  ABE  NOT  SO  BEIGHT  AS  THEY  SEEM.  31 

alligator's  back ;  and  there  he  stood,  a  picture  upon  which 
the  sympathies  of  Christendom  were  enlisted — a  human  object 
without  the  rights  of  man,  in  a  free  republic.  He  held  a 
red  cap  in  his  left  hand,  a  pair  of  coarse  osnaburg  trousers 
reached  a  few  inches  below  his  knees,  and,  together 
with  a  ragged  shirt  of  the  same  material,  constituted  his 
covering. 

"  You  might  have  dressed  yourself  before  you  appeared 
before  gentlemen  from  abroad — at  least,  put  on  your  new 
jacket,"  said  Marston. 

"  Why,  mas'r,  t'ant  de  clothes.  God  neber  make 
Christian  wid  'e  his  clothes  on  ; — den,  mas'r,  I  gin'  my  new 
jacket  to  Daddy  Bob.  But  neber  mind  him,  mas'r — you 
wants  I  to  tell  you  what  I  tinks  ob  de  Lor.  I  tink  great 
site  ob  the  Bible,  mas'r,  but  me  don'  tink  much  ob  Elder's 
sermon,  mas'r." 

"  How  is  that,  Harry  ?"   interrupted  the  deacon. 

"  Why,  Mas'r  Deacon,  ye  sees  how  when  ye  preaches  de 
good  tings  ob  de  Lor',  ye  mus'nt  'dulge  in  'e  wicked  tings 
on  'arth.  A'h  done  want  say  Mas'r  Elder  do  dem  tings — 
but  'e  seem  to  me  t'  warn't  right  wen  'e  join  de  wickedness 
ob  de  world,  and  preach  so  ebery  Sunday.  He  may  know 
de  varse,  and  de  chapter,  but  'e  done  preach  what  de  Lor' 
say,  nohow." 

"  Then  you  don't  believe  in  a  one-sided  sermon,  Harry  ?" 
returned  the  deacon,  while  Marston  and  Maxwell  sat 
enjoying  the  negro's  simple  opinion  of  the  Elder's 
sermon." 

"  No,  mas'r.  What  the  Bible  teach  me  is  to  lob  de  Lor' 
— be  good  myself,  and  set  example  fo'h  oders.  I  aii't  what 
big  white  Christian  say  must  be  good,  wen  'e  neber 
practice  him, — but  I  good  in  me  heart  when  me  tink 
what  de  Lor'  say  be  good.  Why,  mas'r,  Elder  preach  dat 
sarmon  so  many  Sundays,  dat  a'  forgot  him  three  times, 
since  me  know  'im  ebery  word,"  said  Harry ;  and  his  face 
began  to  fill  with  animation  and  fervency. 

"  Well,  now,  Harry,  I  think  you  are  a  little  too  severe  on 
the  Elder's  sermon ;  but  if  you  know  so  much  about  it, 
give  these  gentlemen  a  small  portion  of  it,  just  to  amuse 
them  while  the  Elder  is  taking  a  .nap,"  said  Marston. 

"  Ay,  maa'r,  he  nap  dat  way  too  often  for  pious  man  what 
say  he  lobe  de  Lor',"  replied  Harry;  and  drawing  himself 


32        THINGS  ARE  NOT  SO  BRIGHT  AS  THEY  SEEM. 

into  a  tragic  attitude,  making  sundry  gesticulations,  and 
putting  his  hand  to  his  forehead,  commenced  with  the  open 
ing  portion  of  the  Elder's  sermon.  "  And  it  was  said — 
Servants  obey  your  masters,  for  that  is  right  in  the  sight  of 
the  Lord,"  and  with  a  style  of  native  eloquence,  and  rich 
cantation,  he  continued  for  about  ten  minutes,  giving 
every  word,  seriatim,  of  the  Elder's  sermon  ;  and  would 
have  kept  it  up,  in  word  and  action,  to  the  end,  had  he  not 
been  stopped  by  Marston.  All  seemed  astonished  at  his 
power  of  memory.  Maxwell  begged  that  he  might  be 
allowed  to  proceed. 

"  lie's  a  valuable  fellow,  that — eh  ?  "  said  Marston. 
He'll  be  worth  three-sixteenths  of  a  rise  on  cotton  to  all 
the  planters  in  the  neighbourhood,  by-and-by.  He's  lamed 
to  read,  somehow,  on  the  sly — isn't  it  so,  Harry  ?  come, 
talk  up !  " 

"  Yes,  mas'r,  I  larn  dat  when  you  sleepin' ;  de  Lor'  tell 
me  his  spirit  warn't  in  dat  sarmon  what  de  Elder  preach, 
— dat  me  must  sarch  de  good  book,  and  make  me  own 
tinking  valuable.  Mas'r  tirik  ignorant  nigger  lob  him 
best,  but  t'aut  so,  mas'r.  Good  book  make  heart  good,  and 
make  nigger  love  de  Lor',  and  love  mas'r  too." 

"  I'll  bet  the  rascal's  got  a  Bible,  or  a  Prayer-book,  hid  up 
somewhere.  He  and  old  Daddy  Bob  are  \vorse  on  religion 
than  two  old  coons  on  a  fowl-yard,"  said  Marston.  Here  old 
Aunt  Rachel  entered  the  room  to  fuss  around  a  little,  and 
have  a  pleasant  meeting  with  mas'r's  guests.  Harry  smiled 
at  Marston's  remark,  and  turned  his  eyes  upward,  as  much 
as  to  say,  "  a  day  will  come  when  God's  Word  will  not  thus 
be  turned  into  ridicule!" 

"  And  he's  made  such  a  good  old  Christian  of  this  dark 
sinner,  Aunt  Rachel,  that  I  wouldn't  take  two  thousand 
dollars  for  her.  I  expect  she'll  be  turning  preacher  next, 
and  going  north  to  join  the  abolitionists." 

"  Mas'r,"  said  Rachel,  "  't  wouldn't  do  to  mind  what  you 
pay.  Neber  mind,  you  get  old  one  ob  dese  days ;  den  you 
don't  make  so  much  fun  ob  old  Rachel." 

"  Shut  up  your  corn-trap,"  Marston  says,  smiling;  and 
turning  to  his  guests,  continues — "  You  hear  that,  gentle 
men  ;  she  talks  just  as  she  pleases,  directs  my  household  aa 
if  she  were  governor."  Again,  Aunt  Rachel,  summoning 
her  dignity,  retorta, 


THINGS  ARE  NOT  SO  BRIGHT  AS  THEY  SEEM.       33 

"  Ifot  so,  Mas'r  Deacon,  (turning  to  Deacon  B/osebrook,) 
't  won't  square  t'  believe  all  old  Boss  tell,  dat  it  won't ! 
Mas'r  take  care  ob  de  two  cabins  in  de  yard  yonder,  while 
I  tends  de  big  house."  .Rachel  was  more  than  a  match 
for  Marston;  she  could  beat  him  in  quick  retort.  The 
party,  recognising  Aunt  Rachel's  insinuation,  joined  in  a 
hearty  laugh.  The  conversation  was  a  little  too  pointed  for 
Marston,  who,  changing  the  subject,  turned  to  Harry, 
saying,  "  now,  my  old  boy,  we'll  have  a  little  more  of  your 
wisdom  on  religious  matters."  Harry  had  been  standing 
the  while  like  a  forlorn  image,  with  a  red  cap  in  his  hand. 

"  I  can  preach,  mas'r ;  I  can  do  dat,  fo'h  true,"  he  replied 
quickly.  "  But  mas'r,  nigger  got  to  preach  against  his  colour ; 
Buckra  tink  nigger  preachin'  ain't  good,  cus  he  black." 

"  Never  mind  that,  Harry,"  interrupts  Marston :  "  We'll 
forget  the  nigger,  and  listen  just  as  if  it  were  all  white. 
Give  us  the  very  best  specimen  of  it.  Daddy  Bob,  my  old 
patriarch,  must  help  you ;  and  after  you  get  through,  he 
must  lift  out  by  telling  us  all  about  the  time  when  General 
"Washington  landed  in  the  city  ;  and  how  the  people  spread 
carpets,  at  the  landing,  for  him  to  walk  upon."  The 
entertainment  was,  in  Mars  ton's  estimation,  quite  a 
recherche  concern:  that  his  guests  should  be  the  better 
pleased,  the  venerable  old  Daddy  Bob,  his  head  white  with 
goodly  years  of  toil,  and  full  of  genuine  negro  humour, 
steps  forward  to  perform  his  part.  He  makes  his  best 
bows,  his  best  scrapes,  his  best  laughs;  and  says,  "Bob 
ready  to  do  anything  to  please  mas'r."  He  pulls  the  sleeves 
of  his  jacket,  looks  vacantly  at  Harry,  is  proud  to  be  in 
the  presence  of  mas'r's  guests.  He  tells  them  he  is  a  better 
nigger  "  den"  Harry,  points  to  his  extremes,  which  are 
decorated  with  a  pair  of  new  russet  broghans. 

"  Daddy's  worth  his  weight  in  gold,"  continues  Marston, 
"  and  can  do  as  much  work  as  any  nigger  on  the  plantation, 
if  he  is  old." 

"  No,  no,  mas'r ;  I  ain't  so  good  what  I  was.  Bob  can't 
tote  so  much  wid  de  hoe  now.  I  work  first-rate  once, 
mas'r,  but  'a  done  gone  now!" 

"  Now,  Bob,  I  want  you  to  tell  me  the  truth, — niggers 
will  lie,  but  you  are  an  exception,  Bob ;  and  can  tell  the 
truth  when  there's  no  bacon  in  the  way." 

"Gihl  Mas'r,  I  do  dat  sartin,"  replied  Bob,  laughing 
D 


34  THINGS  ARE  NOT  SO  BRIGHT  AS  THEY  SEEM. 

heartily,  and  pulling  up  the  little  piece  of  shirt  that  peeped 
out  above  the  collar  of  his  jacket. 

"How  did  Harry  and  you  come  by  so  much  knowledge  of 
the  Bible  ?  you  got  one  somewhere,  hav'n't  you  ?  "  enquired 
Marston,  laconically. 

This  was  rather  a  "  poser"  on  Bob ;  and,  after  stammer 
ing  and  mumbling  for  some  time — looking  at  Harry  slyly, 
then  at  Marston,  and  again  dropping  his  eyes  on  the  floor, 
he  ejaculated, 

"  Well,  mas'r,  'spose  I  might  as  well  own  'im.  Harry  and 
me  got  one,  for  sartin !" 

*  "  Ah.  you  black  rascals,  I  knew  you  had  one  somewhere. 
Where  did  you  get  it  ?  That's  some  of  Miss  Franconia's 
doings." 

"  Can't  tell  you,  mas'r,  whar  I  got  him ;  but  he  don't 
stop  my  hoein'  corn,  for'  true." 

Franconia  had  observed  Harry's  tractableness,  and  heard 
him  wish  for  a  Bible,  that  he  might  learn  to  read  from  it, 
— and  she  had  secretly  supplied  him  with  one.  Two  years 
Harry  and  Daddy  Bob  had  spent  hours  of  the  night  in 
communion  over  it ;  the  latter  had  learned  to  read  from  it, 
the  former  had  imbibed  ita  great  truths.  The  artless  girl 
had  given  it  to  them  in  confidence,  knowing  its  consolatory 
influences  and  that  they,  with  a  peculiar  firmness  in  such 
cases,  would  never  betray  her  trust.  Bob  would  not  have 
refused  his  master  any  other  request ;  but  he  would  never 
disclose  the  secret  of  Miss  Franconia  giving  it. 

"  Well,  my  old  faithful,"  said  Marston,  "  we  want  you  to 
put  the  sprit  into  Harry  ;  we  want  to  hear  a  sample  of  his 
preaching.  Now,  Harry,  you  can  begin ;  give  it  big  elo 
quence,  none  of  the  new  fashion  preaching,  give  us  the  old 
plantation  break-down  style." 

The  negro's  countenance  assumed  a  look  indicative  of 
more  than  his  lips  dare  speak.  Looking  upward  pensively, 
he  replied, — "  Can't  do  dat,  mas'r ;  he  ain't  what  do  God 
justice ;  but  there  is  something  in  de  text, — where  shall  I 
take  'em  from  ?  " 

"  Ministers  should  choose  their  own ;  I  always  do,"  inter 
rupted  Deacon  Rosebrook. 

Daddy  Bob,  touching  Harry  on  the  arm,  looks  up  inno 
cently,  interposes  his  knowledge  of  Scripture.  "  D'ar, 
Harry,  I  tells  you  what  text  to  gin  'em.  Gin  'em  dat  one 


THINGS  ARE  NOT  SO  BRIGHT  AS  THEY  SEEM.       35 

from  de  fourt'  chapter  of  Ephes :  dat  one  whar  de  Lor'  say : 
— '  Great  mas'r  led  captivity  captive,  and  gin  gifts  unto 
men.'  And  whar  he  say,  '  Till  we  come  unto  a  'unity  of  the 
faith  of  the  knowledge  of  the  son  of  Gk>d  unto  a  perfect  man, 
unto  the  measure  of  the  stature  of  the  fulness  of  Christ ; 
that  we  be  no  more  children  tossed  to  and  fro,  and  carried 
about  with  every  wind  of  doctrine,  by  the  slight  of 
men,  and  cunning  craftiness,  whereby  they  lay  in  wait  to 
deceive.'  " 

"  And  you  tink  dat  '11  do, — eh,  Daddy  ?"  Harry  replies, 
looking  at  the  old  man,  as  if  to  say,  were  he  anything  but 
a  slave  he  would  follow  the  advice. 

"  Den,  dars  t'  oder  one,  away  'long  yonder,  where  'e  say  in 
Isaiah,  fifty-eight  chapter — 'Wherefore  have  we  fasted,  say 
they,  and  thou  seest  not  ?  Wherefore  have  we  afflicted 
our  soul,  and  thou  takest  no  knowledge  ?  Behold  ye  fast 
for  strife  and  debate,  and  to  smite  with  the  fist  of  wicked 
ness."  The  old  man  seemed  perfectly  at  home  on  matters 
of  Scripture  ;  he  had  studied  it  in  stolen  moments. 

The  young  Englishman  seemed  surprised  at  such  a  show 
of  talent.     He  saw  the  humble  position  of  the  old  man,  hia 
want  of  early  instruction,  and  his  anxiety  to  be  enlightened. 
"  How  singular !  "  he  ejaculated,  "  to  hear  property  preach, 
and  know  so  much  of  the  Bible,  too  !     People  in  my  country 
would  open  their  eyes  with  surprise."     The  young  man  had 
been  educated  in  an  atmosphere  where  religion  was  prized — 
where  it  was  held  as  a  sacred  element  for  the  good  of  man. 
His  feelings  were  tenderly  susceptible  ;  the  scene  before  him 
awakened  his  better  nature,  struck  deep  into  his  mind.     He 
viewed  it  as  a  cruel  mockery  of  Christianity,  a  torture  of 
innocent  nature,  for  which  man  had  no  shame.     He  saw 
the  struggling  spirit  of  the  old  negro  contending  against 
wrong, — his  yearnings  for  the  teachings  of  Christianity,  his 
solicitude  for   Marston's  good.     And  he  saw  how  man  had 
cut  down  the  unoffending  image  of  himself — how  Christian 
ministers  had  become  the  tyrant's  hand- fellow  in  the  work 
of  oppression.       It  incited  him  to  resolution ;    a    project 
sprung  up  in  his  mind,  which,  from  that  day  forward,  as  if 
it  had  been  a  new  discovery  in  the  rights  of  man,  he  deter 
mined  to  carry   out   in   future,  for    the  freedom  of   hia 
•   fellows. 

Harry,  in  accordance  with  Bob's  advice,  chose  the  latter 


36       THINGS  ARE  NOT  SO  BRIUHT  AS  THEY  SEEM. 

text.  For  some  minutes  he  expounded  the  power  of  divine 
inspiration,  in  his  simple  but  impressive  manner,  being 
several  times'  interrupted  by  the  Deacon,  who  assumed  the 
right  of  correcting  his  philosophy.  At  length,  Marston. 
interrupted,  reminding  him  that  he  had  lost  the  "  plantation 
gauge."  "  You  must  preach  according  to  the  Elder's  rule," 
said  he. 

With  a  submissive  stare,  Harry  replied :  "  Mas'r,  a  man. 
what  lives  fo'h  dis  world  only  is  a  slave  to  himself;  but  God 
says,  he  dat  lives  fo'h  de  world  to  come,  is   the  light  of  life 
coming  forth  to  enjoy  the  pleasures  of  eternity  ;  "  and  again 
he  burst  into  a  rhapsody  of  eloquence,  to  the  astonishment 
and  admiration  of  Maxwell,  and  even  touching  the  feelings 
of   Marston,  who    was    seldom    moved   by   such  displays. 
Seeing  the  man  in  the  thing  of  merchandise,  he  inclined  to 
look  upon  him  as  a  being  worthy  of  immortality  ;  and  yet  it 
seemed  next  to  impossible  that  he  should  bring  his  natural 
feelings  to  realise  the  simple  nobleness  that  stood  before 
him, — the  man  beyond  the  increase  of  dollars  and  cents  in 
his  person  !     The  coloured  winter's  hand  leaned  against  the 
mantel-piece,  watching  the  changes  in  Marston' s   counte 
nance,    as    Daddy    stood   at    Harry's  side,  in  patriarchal 
muteness.      A  tear  stealing  down  Maxwell's  cheek  told  of 
the  sensation  produced  ;  while  Marston,  setting  his  elbow  on 
the  table,  supported  his  head  in  his  hands,  and  listened. 
The  Deacon,  good  man  that.he  was,  iilled  his  glass, — as  if  to 
say,  "  I  don't  stand  nigger  preaching."     As  for  the  Elder, 
his  pishes  and   painful  gurglings,  while  he  slept,  were  a 
source  of  much   annoyance.      Awaking    suddenly — raising 
himself  to  a  half-bent   position — he  rubs  his  little  eyes, 
adjusts  his  spectacles  on  his  nose,   stares  at  Harry  with 
surprise,  and  then,  with  quizzical  demeanour,  leaves  us  to 
infer  what   sort  of  a  protest  he  is  about  to   enter.     He, 
however,  thinks  it  better  to  say  nothing. 

"  Stop,  Harry,"  says  Marston,  interrupting  him  in  a 
point  of  his  discourse  :  then  turning  to  his  guests,  he 
inquired,  with  a  look  of  ridicule,  "  Gentlemen,  what  have 
you  got  to  say  against  such  preaching  ?  Elder,  you  old 
snoring  Christian,  you  have  lost  all  the  best  of  it.  Why 
didn't  you  wake  up  before  ?" 

"  Verri-ly,  truly  !  ah,  indeed :  you  have  been  giving  us  a 
monkey-show  with  your  nigger,  I  suppose.  I  thought  I'd 


THIN&S  ABE  NOT  SO  BBIGHT  AS  THEY  SEEM..  37 

lost   nothing ;    you   should  remember,  Marston,   there's   a 
future,"   said  the  Elder,  winking  and  blinking  sardonically. 

"  Yes,  old  boosey,"  Marston  replies,  with  an  air  of 
indifference,  "  and  you  should  remember  there's  a  present, 
which  you  may  lose  your  way  in.  That  venerable  sermon 
won't  keep  you  straight — " 

The  Elder  is  extremely  sensitive  on  this  particular  point 
— anything  but  speak  disparagingly  of  that  sermon.  It  has 
been  his  stock  in  trade  for  numerous  years.  He  begs  they 
will  listen  to  him  for  a  minute,  excuse  this  little  trifling 
variation,  charge  it  to  the  susceptibility  of  his  constitution. 
He  is  willing  to  admit  there  is  capital  in  his  example  which 
may  be  used  for  bad  purposes,  and  says,  "  Somehow,  when  I 
take  a  little,  it  don't  seem  to  go  right."  Again  he  gives  a 
vacant  look  at  his  friends,  gets  up,  resting  his  hands  on  the 
table,  endeavours  to  keep  a  perpendicular,  but  declares 
himself  so  debilitated  by  his  sleep  that  he  must  wait  a  little 
longer.  Sinking  back  upon  the  settee,  he  exclaims,  "  You 
had  better  send  that  nigger  to  his  cabin."  This  was  carry 
ing  the  amusement  a  little  beyond  Marston's  own  "  gauge," 
and  it  being  declared  time  to  adjourn,  preparations  were 
made  to  take  care  of  the  Elder,  who  was  soon  placed  hori 
zontally  in  a  waggon  and  driven  away  for  his  home.  "  The 
Elder  is  gone  beyond  himself,  beyond  everything,"  said 
Marston,  as  they  carried  him  out  of  the  door.  "  You  can 
go,  Harry,  I  like  your  preaching ;  bring  it  down  to  the  right 
System  for  my  property,  and  I'll  make  a  dollar  or  two  out  of 
it  yet,"  he  whispers,  shaking  his  head,  as  Harry,  bowing 
submissively,  leaves  the  door. 

Just  as  they  were  making  preparations  to  retire,  a  car 
riage  drove  to  the  gate,  and  in  the  next  minute  a  dashing 
young  fellow  came  rushing  into  the  house,  apparently  in 
great  anxiety.  He  was  followed  by  a  well-dressed  man, 
whose  countenance  and  sharp  features,  full  of  sternness, 
indicated  much  mechanical  study.  He  hesitated  as  the 
young  man  advanced,  took  Marston  by  the  hand,  nervously, 
led  him  aside,  whispered  something  in  his  ear.  Taking  a 
few  steps  towards  a  window,  the  intruder,  for  such  he 
seemed,  stood  almost  motionless,  with  his  eyes  firmly  and 
watchfully  fixed  upon  them,  a  paper  in  his  right  hand.  "  It 
is  too  often,  Lorenzo  ;  these  things  may  prove  fatal,"  said 


38  THINGS  AfiE  NOT  SO  BRIGHT  AS  THEY  SEEM. 

Marston,  giving  an  inquiring  glance  at  the  man,  still  standing 
at  the  window. 

"  I  pledge  you  my  honour,  uncle,  it  shall  be  the  last  time," 
said  the  young  stranger.  "  Uncle,  I  have  not  forgotten 
your  advice."  Marston,  much  excited,  exhibited  changes 
of  countenance  peculiar  to  a  man  labouring  under  the  effect 
of  sudden  disappointment.  Apologising  to  his  guests,  he 
dismissed  them — with  the  exception  of  Maxwell — ordered 
pen  and  ink,  drew  a  chair  to  the  table,  and  without  asking 
the  stranger  to  be  seated,  signed  his  name  to  a  paper. 
While  this  was  being  done,  the  man  who  had  waited  in 
silence  stepped  to  the  door  and  admitted  two  gentlemanly- 
looking  men,  who  approached  Marston  and  authenticated 
the  instrument.  It  was  evident  there  was  something  of 
deep  importance  associated  with  Marston' s  signature.  No 
sooner  had  his  pen  fulfilled  the  mission,  than  Lorenzo's  face, 
which  had  just  before  exhibited  the  most  wratchful  anxiety, 
lighted  up  with  joy,  as  if  it  had  dismantled  its  care  for  some 
new  scene  of  worldly  prosperity. 


CHAPTEE  IV. 


AN  UNEXPECTED  CONFESSION. 

HA.VING  executed  the  document,  Marston  ordered  one  of 
the  servants  to  show  Maxwell  his  room.  The  persons  who 
had  acted  the  part  of  justices,  authenticating  the  instru 
ment,  withdrew  without  further  conversation  ;  while  the 
person  who  had  followed  Lorenzo,  for  such  was  the  young 
man's  name,  remained  as  if  requiring  some  further  negotia 
tion  with  Marstou.  He  approached  the  table  sullenly,  and 
with  one  hand  resting  upon  it,  and  the  other  adjusted  in 
his  vest,  deliberately  waited  the  moment  to  interrupt  the 
conversation.  This  man,  reader,  is  Marco  Graspum,  an 
immense  dealer  in  human  flesh, — great  in  that  dealing  in 
the  flesh  and  blood  of  mankind  which  brings  with  it  all  the 
wickedness  of  the  demon.  It  is  almost  impossible  to 
conceive  the  suddenness  with  which  that  species  of  trade 
changes  man  into  a  craving  creature,  restless  for  the  dross 
of  the  world.  There  he  was,  the  heartless  dealer  in  human 
flesh,  dressed  in  the  garb  of  a  gentleman,  and  by  many 
would  have  been  taken  as  such.  Care  and  anxiety  sat  upon 
his  countenance  ;  he  watched  the  chances  of  the  flesh 
market,  stood  ready  to  ensnare  the  careless  youth,  to  take 
advantage  of  the  frailer  portions  of  a  Southerner's  noble 
nature.  "  A  word  or  two  with  you,  Mr.  Marston,"  said  he. 
"  Sit  down,  Graspum,  sit  down,"  Marston  rejoined, 
ordering  Dandy  to  give  him  a  chair  ;  which  being  done  he 
scats  himself  in  front  of  Marston,  and  commences  dilating 
upon  his  leniency.  "  You  may  take  me  for  an  importune 
feller,  in  coming  this  time  o'night,  but  the  fact  is  I've  been 
—you  know  my  feelings  for  helpin'  everybody — good- 
naturedly  drawn  into  a  very  bad  scrape  with  this  careless 
young  nephew  of  yourn  :  he's  a  dashing  devil,  and  you  don't 
know  it,  he  is.  But  I've  stood  it  so  long  that  I  was 
compelled  to  make  myself  sure.  This  nephew  of  yourn," 
said  he,  turning  to  Lorenzo,  "  thinks  my  money  is  made  for 


40  AN  UNEXPECTED  CONFESSION. 

his  gambling  propensities,  and  if  he  has  used  your  name 
improperly,  you  should  have  known  of  it  before.'"  At  this 
Lorenzo's  fine  open  countenance  assumed  a  glow  of  indig 
nation,  and  turning  to  his  uncle,  with  a  nervous  tremor,  he 
said,  "  Uncle,  he  has  led  me  into  this  trouble.  You  know 
not  the  snares  of  city  life ;  and  were  I  to  tell  you  him — this 
monster*— yea,  I  say  monster,  for  he  has  drawn  me  into  a 
snare  like  one  who  was  seeking  to  devour  my  life — that 
document,  uncle,  which  he  now  holds  in  his  hand  saves  me 
from  a  shame  and  disgrace  which  I  never  could  have  with 
stood  before  the  world." 

"  Ah !  you  are  just  like  all  gamblers :  never  consider 
yourself  in  the  light  of  bringing  yourself  into  trouble. 
Take  my  advice,  young  man ;  there  is  a  step  in  a  gambler's 
life  to  which  it  is  dangerous  to  descend,  and  if  you  have 
brought  your  father  and  uncle  into  trouble,  blame  neither 
me  nor  my  money,"  returned  Graspum. 

"  You  do  not  say  that  there  is  forgery  connected  with 
this  affair,  do  you  r"  inyuired  Marston,  grasping  Lorenzo 
by  the  arm. 

"  I  wish  it  were  otherwise,  uncle,"  replied  Lorenzo, 
leaning  forward  upon  the  table  and  covering  his  face  with 
his  hands.  "  It  was  my  folly,  and  the  flattery  of  this  man, 
which  have  driven  me  to  it,"  he  continued. 

"  Oh !  cursed  inconsistency :  and  you  have  now  fallen 
back  upon  the  last  resource,  to  save  a  name  that,  once  gone, 
cannot  reinstate  itself.  Tell  me,  Marco  Graspum ;  are  you 
not  implicated  in  this  affair  ?  Your  name  stands  full  of 
dark  implications ;  are  you  not  following  up  one  of  those 
avenues  through  which  you  make  so  many  victims  ?  What 
is  the  amount  ?"  returned  Marston. 

"  You  will  know  that  to-morrow.  He  has  given  paper  in 
your  name  to  an  uncertain  extent.  You  should  have  known 
this  before.  Your  nephew  has  been  leading  a  reckless 
gambler's  life — spending  whatsoever  money  came  into  his 
possession,  and  at  length  giving  bills  purporting  to  be 
drawn  by  you  and  his  father.  You  must  now  honour  them, 
or  dishonour  him.  You  see,  I  am  straightforward  in 
business :  all  my  transactions  are  conducted  with  prompt 
ness  ;  but  I  must  have  what  is  due  to  me.  I  have  a  purpose 
in  all  my  transactions,  and  I  pursue  them  to  the  end.  You 
know  the  purport  of  this  document,  Marston ;  save 


AN  UNEXPECTED  CONFESSION.  41 

yourself  trouble,  and  do  not  allow  me  to  call  too  often." 
Thus  saying,  he  took  his  hat  and  left  the  room. 

"  Uncle,"  said  Lorenzo,  as  soon  as  Graspum  had  left,  "  I 
have  been  led  into  difficulty.  First  led  away  by  fashionable 
associations,  into  the  allurements  with  which  our  city  ia 
filled,  from  small  vices  I  have  been  hurried  onward,  step 
by  step,  deeper  and  deeper,  until  now  I  have  arrived  at  the 
dark  abyss.  Those  who  have  watched  me  through  each  sin, 
been  my  supposed  friends,  and  hurried  me  onwards  to  this 
sad  climax,  have  proved  my  worst  enemies.  I  have  but 
just  learned  the  great  virtue  of  human  nature, — mistrust 
him  who  would  make  pleasure  of  vice.  I  have  ruined  my 
father,  and  have  involved  you  by  the  very  act  which  you 
have  committed  for  my  relief  to-night.  In  my  vain  struggle 
to  relieve  myself  from  the  odium  which  must  attach  to  my 
transactions,  I  have  only  added  to  your  sorrows.  I  cannot 
ask  you  to  forgive  me,  nor  can  I  disclose  all  my  errors — they 
are  manifold." 

rt  This  is  an  unexpected  blow — one  which  I  was  not 
prepared  to  meet.  I  am  ready  to  save  your  honour,  but 
there  is  something  beyond  this  which  the  voice  of  rumour 
will  soon  spread.  Tou  know  our  society,  and  the  strange 
manner  in  which  it  countenances  certain  things,  jet ishuta 
out  those  who  fall  by  tfaem.  But  what  ia  to i  be  "gone  P 
Although  we  may  discharge  the  obligation  with  Graspura, 
it  does  not  follow  that  he  retains  the  stigma  in  his  own 
breast.  Tell  me,  Lorenzo,  what  is  the  amount  ?"  inquired 
Marston,  anxiously. 

"  My  father  has  already  discharged  a  secret  debt  of 
fourteen  thousand  dollars  for  me,  and  there  cannot  be  less 
than  thirty  thousand  remaining.  Uncle,  do  not  let  it  worry 
you ;  I  will  leave  the  country,  bear  the  stigma  with  me,  and 
you  can  repudiate  the  obligation,"  said  he,  pleading  nervously, 
as  he  grasped  his  uncle's  hand  firmer  and  firmer. 

Among  the  many  vices  of  the  south,  spreading  their 
corrupting  influence  through  the  social  body,  that  of 
gambling  stands  first.  Confined  to  no  one  grade  of  society, 
it  may  be  found  working  ruin  among  rich  and  poor,  old  and 
young.  Labour  being  disreputable,  one  class  of  men  affect 
to  consider  themselves  born  gentlemen,  while  the  planter  ia 
ever  ready  to  indulge  his  sons  with  some  profession  they 
seldom  practise,  and  which  too  often  results  in  idleness  and 


42  AN  UNEXPECTED  CONFESSION. 

its  attendants.  This,  coupled  to  a  w^nt  of  proper  society 
with  which  the  young  may  mix  for  social  elevation,  finds 
gratification  in  drinking  saloons,  fashionable  billiard  rooms, 
and  at  the  card  table.  In  the  first,  gentlemen  of  all  pro 
fessions  meet  and  revel  away  the  night  in  suppers  and  wine. 
They  must  keep  up  appearances,  or  fall  doubtful  visitors  of 
these  fashionable  stepping-stones  to  ruin.  Like  a  furnace 
to  devour  its  victims,  the  drinking  saloon  first  opens  its 
gorgeous  doors,  and  when  the  burning  liquid  has  inflamed 
the  mental  and  physical  man,  soon  hurries  him  onward  into 
those  fascinating  habitations  where  vice  and  voluptuousness 
mingle  their  degrading  powers.  Once  in  these  whirlpools 
of  sin,  the  young  man  finds  himself  borne  away  by  every 
species  of  vicious  allurement — his  feelings  become  unre 
strained,  until  at  length  that  last -spark  of  filial  advice  which 
had  hovered  round  his  consciousness  dies  out.  "When  this 
is  gone,  vice  becomes  the  great  charmer,  and  with  its 
thousand  snares  and  resplendent  workers  never  fails  to  hold 
out  a  hope  with  each  temptation ;  but  while  the  victim  how 
and  then  asks  hope  to  be  his  guardian,  he  seldom  thinks 
how  surely  he  is  sinking  faster  and  faster  to  an  irretrievable 
depth. 

Through  this  combination  of  snares  — all  having  their  life- 
springs  in  slavery — Lorenzo  brought  ruin  upon  his  father, 
and  involved  his  uncle.  With  an  excellent  education,  a  fine 
person,  frank  and  gentle  demeanour,  he  made  his  way  into 
the  city,  and  soon  attracted  the  attention  of  those  who 
aftect  to  grace  polished  society.  Had  society  laid  its  re 
straints  upon  character  and  personal  worth,  it  would  have 
been  well  for  Lorenzo ;  but  the  neglect  to  found  this  moral 
conservator  only  serves  to  increase  the  avenues  to  vice,  and 
to  bring  men  from  high  places  into  the  lowest  moral  scale. 
This  is  the  lamentable  fault  of  southern  society ;  and 
through  the  want  of  that  moral  bulwark,  so  protective  of 
society  in  the  New  England  States — personal  worth — estates 
are  squandered,  families  brought  to  poverty,  young  men 
degraded,  and  persons  once  happy  driven  from  those  homes 
they  can  only  look  back  upon  with  pain  and  regret.  The 
associations  of  birth,  education,  and  polished  society— so 
much  valued  by  the  southerner — all  become  as  nothing 
when  poverty  sets  its  seal  upon  the  victim. 

And  yet,  among  some  classes  in  the  south  there  exists  a 


AN  UNEXPECTED  CONFESSION.  43 

religious  sentiment  apparently  grateful ;  but  what  credit  for 
sincerity  shall  we  accord  to  it  when  the  result  proves  that 
no  part  of  the  organisation  itself  works  for  the  elevation  of  a 
degraded  class  ?  How  much  this  is  to  be  regretted  we  leave 
to  the  reader's  discrimination.  The  want  of  a  greater  effort 
to  make  religious  influence  predominant  has  been,  and  yet 
is,  a  source  of  great  evil.  But  let  us  continue  our  narra 
tive,  and  beg  the  reader's  indulgence  for  having  thus  trans 
gressed. 

Flattered  and  caressed  among  gay  assemblages,  Lorenzo 
soon  found  himself  drawn  beyond  their  social  pleasantries 
into  deeper  and  more  alluring  excitements.  His  frequent 
visits  at  the  saloon  and  gambling-tables  did  not  detract,  for 
a  time,  from  the  social  position  society  had  conferred  upon 
him. 

His  parents,  instead  of  restraining,  fostered  these  associa 
tions,  prided  themselves  on  his  reception,  providing  means 
of  maintaining  him  in  this  style  of  living.  Vanity  and 
passion  led  him  captive  in  their  gratifications ;  they  were 
inseparable  from  the  whirlpool  of  confused  society  that 
triumphs  at  the  south, — that  leads  the  proud  heart  writh 
ing  in  the  agony  of  its  follies.  He  cast  himself  upon 
this,  like  a  frail  thing  upon  a  rapid  stream,  and — forgetting 
the  voyage  was  short — found  his  pleasures  soon  ended  in 
the  troubled  waters  of  misery  and  disgrace. 

There  is  no  fundamental  morality  in  the  south,  nor  is 
education  invested  with  the  material  qualities  of  social  good; 
in  this  it  differs  from  the  north,  against  which  it  is  fast 
building  up  a  political  and  social  organisation  totally  at 
variance.  Instead  of  maintaining  those  great  principles 
upon  which  the  true  foundation  of  the  republic  stands,  the 
south  allows  itself  to  run  into  a  hyper-aristocratic  vagueness, 
coupled  with  an  arbitrary  determination  to  perpetuate  its 
follies  for  the  guidance  of  the  whole  Union.  And  the  effect 
of  this  becomes  still  more  dangerous,  when  it  is  attempted 
to  carry  it  out  under  the  name  of  democracy, — American 
democracy!  In  this  manner  it  serves  the  despotic  ends  of 
European  despots :  they  point  to  the  freest  government  in 
the  world  for  examples  of  their  own  absolutism,  shield  their 
autocracy  beneath  its  democracy,  and  with  it  annihilate  the 
rights  of  the  commoner. 

Heedlessly  wending  his  way,  the  man  of  rank  and  station 
4 


44  AN  UNEXPECTED  CONFESSION. 

at  one  side,  the  courtesan  with  Inv  bland  smiles  at  the  other, 
Lorenzo  had  not  seen  the  black  poniard  that  was  to  cut  the 
cord  of  his  downfall, — it  had  remained  gilded.  He  drank 
copious  draughts  at  the  house  of  licentiousness,  became  in 
fatuated  with  the  soft  music  that  leads  the  way  of  the 
unwary,  until  at  length,  he,  unconsciously  at  it  were,  found 
himself  in  the  midst  of  a  clan  who  are  forming  a  plot  to  put 
the  black  seal  upon  his  dishonour.  Monto  Grraspum,  his 
money  playing  through  the  hands  of  his  minions  in  the 
gambling  rooms,  had  professed  to  be  his  friend.  He  had 
watched  his  pliable  nature,  had  studied  the  resources  of  his 
parents,  knew  their  kindness,  felt  sure  of  his,  prey  while 
abetting  the  downfall.  Causing  him  to  perpetrate  the  crime, 
from  time  to  time,  he  would  incite  him  with  prospects  of 
retrieve,  guide  his  hand  to  consummate  the  crime  again,  and 
watch  the  moment  when  he  might  reap  the  harvest  of  his 
own  infamy.  Thus,  when  he  had  brought  the  young  man 
to  that  last  pitiless  issue,  where  the  proud  heart  quickens 
with  a  sense  of  its  wrongs — when  the  mind  recurs  painfully 
to  the  past,  imploring  that  forgiveness  which  seems  beyond 
the  power  of  mankind  to  grant,  he  left  him  a  poor  outcast, 
whose  errors  would  be  first  condemned  by  his  professed 
friends.  That  which  seemed  worthy  of  praise  was  for 
gotten,  his  errors  were  magnified ;  and  the  seducer  made 
himself  secure  by  crushing  his  victim,  compromising  the 
respectability  of  his  parents,  making  the  disgrace  a  for 
feiture  for  life. 

Unexpected  as  the  shock  was  to  Marston,  he  bore  it  with 
seeming  coolness,  as  if  dreading  the  appearance  of  the 
man  who  had  taken  advantage  of  the  moment  to  bring  him 
under  obligations,  more  than  he  did  the  amount  to  be  dis 
charged.  Arising  from  the  table,  he  took  Lorenzo  by  the 
hand,  saying : — "  Veil  your  trouble,  Lorenzo  !  Let  the  past 
be  forgotten,  bury  the  stigma  in  your  own  bosom  ;  let  it  be 
an  example  to  your  feelings  and  your  actions.  G-o  not  upon 
the  world  to  wrestle  with  its  ingratitude ;  if  you  do,  misfor 
tune  will  befall  you — you  will  stumble  through  it  the  re 
mainder  of  your  life.  With  me,  I  fear  the  very  presence  of 
the  man  who  has  found  means  of  engrafting  his  avarice 
upon  our  misfortunes ;  he  deals  with  those  in  his  grasp  like 
one  who  would  cut  the  flesh  and  blood  of  mankind  into 
fragments  of  gain.  Be  firm,  Lorenzo  ;  be  firm !  Eemember, 


AN  UNEXPECTED  CONFESSION.  46 

it  is  not  the  province  of  youth  to  despair ;  be  manly — manli 
ness  even  in  crime  lends  its  virtue  to  the  falling."  At 
which  he  bid  him  good  night,  and  retired  to  rest. 

The  young  man,  more  pained  at  his  uncle's  kindness, — 
kindness  stronger  in  its  effects  than  reproof, — still  lingered, 
as  if  to  watch  some  change  of  expression  on  his  uncle's 
countenance,  as  he  left  the  door.  .His  face  changed  into 
pallid  gloominess,  and  again,  as  if  by  magic  influence,  filled 
with  the  impress  of  passion  ;  it  was  despair  holding  conflict 
with  a  bending  spirit.  He  felt  himself  a  criminal,  marked 
by  the  whispers  of  society ;  he  might  not  hear  the  charges 
against  him,  nor  be  within  the  sound  of  scandal's  tongue,  but 
he  would  see  it  outlined  in  faces  that  once  smiled  at  his 
seeming  prosperity.  He  would  feel  it  in  the  cold  hand  that 
had  welcomed  him, — that  had  warmly  embraced  him ;  his 
name  would  no  longer  be  respected.  The  circle  of  refined 
society  that  had  kindly  received  him,  had  made  him  one  of 
its  attractions,  would  now  shun  him  as  if  he  were  contagion. 
Beyond  this  he  saw  the  fate  that  hovered  over  his  father's  and 
his  uncle's  estates  ; — all  the  filial  affection  they  had  bestowed 
upon  him,  blasted  ;  the  caresses  of  his  beloved  and  beautiful 
sister;  the  shame  the  exposure  would  bring  upon  her;  tbeknave 
who  held  him  in  his  grasp,  while  dragging  the  last  remnants  of 
their  property  away  to  appease  dishonest  demands,  haunted 
him  to  despair.  And,  yet,  to  sink  under  them — to  leave  all 
behind  him  and  be  an  outcast,  homeless  and  friendless  upon 
the  world,  where  he  could  only  look  back  upon  the  familiar 
scenes  of  his  boyhood  with  regret,  would  be  to  carry  a 
greater  amount  of  anguish  to  his  destiny.  The  destroyer 
was  upon  him  ;  his  grasp  was  firm  and  painful.  He  might 
live  a  life  of  rectitude ;  but  his  principles  and  affec 
tions  would  be  unfixed.  It  would  be  like  an  infectious 
robe  encircling  him, — a  disease  which  he  never  could  eradi 
cate,  so  that  he  might  feel  he  was  not  an  empty  vessel 
among  honourable  men.  When  men  depicted  their  villains, 
moving  in  the  grateful  spheres  of  life,  he  would  be  one  of 
their  models ;  and  though  the  thoughtlessness  of  youth  had 
made  him  the  type  haunting  himself  by  day  and  night, 
the  world  never  made  a  distinction.  Bight  and  wrong 
were  things  that  to  him  only  murmured  in  distrust ;  they 
would  be  blemishes  exaggerated  from  simple  error;  but 
the  judgment  of  society  would  never  overlook  them.  He 


46  AN  UNEXPECTED  CONFESSION. 

must  now  choose  between  a  resolution  to  bear  the  conse 
quences  at  home,  or  turn  his  back  upon  all  that  had  been 
near  and  dear  to  him, — be  a  wanderer  struggling  with  the 
eventful  trials  of  life  in  a  distant  land !  Turning  pale,  as 
if  frantic  with  the  thought  of  what  was  before  him,  the 
struggle  to  choose  between  the  two  extremes,  and  the  only 
seeming  alternative,  he  grasped  the  candle  that  flickered 
before  him,  gave  a  glance  round  the  room,  as  if  taking 
a  last  look  at  each  familiar  object  that  met  his  eyes,  and 
retired. 


THE  MAROONING  PARTY. 

'It  is  a  pretty  shaded  retreat— a  spot  breathing  of  romance." 


CHAPTEE  V. 

THE  MAEOONING  PAETY. 

A  MAEOONIKG  pic-nic  had  been  proposed  and  arranged  by 
the  young  beaux  and  belies  of  the  neighbouring  plantations. 
The  day  proposed  for  the  festive  event  was  that  following 
the  disclosure  of  Lorenzo's  difficulties.  Every  negro  on 
the  plantation  was  agog  long  before  daylight :  the  morning 
ushered  forth  bright  and  balmy,  with  bustle  and  confusion 
reigning  throughout  the  plantation, — the  rendezvous  being 
Marston's  mansion,  from,  which  the  gay  party  would  be 
conveyed  in  a  barge,  overspread  with  an  awning,  to  a 
romantic  spot,  overshaded  with  luxuriant  pines,  some  ten 
miles  up  the  stream.  Here  gay  fetes,  mirth  and  joy,  the 
mingling  of  happy  spirits,  were  to  make  the  time  pass  plea 
santly.  The  night  passed  without  producing  any  decision  in 
Lorenzo's  mind  ;  and  when  he  made  his  appearance  on  the 
veranda  an  unusual  thoughtfulness  pervaded  his  countenance; 
all  his  attempts  to  be  joyous  failed  to  conceal  his  trouble. 
Marston,  too,  was  moody  and  reserved  even  to  coldness ; 
that  frank,  happy,  and  careless  expression  of  a  genial  nature, 
which  had  so  long  marked  him  in  social  gatherings,  was 
departed.  When  Maxwell,  the  young  Englishman,  with 
quiet  demeanour,  attempted  to  draw  him  into  conversation 
about  the  prospects  of  the  day,  his  answers  were  measured, 
cold,  beyond  his  power  of  comprehending,  yet  inciting. 

To  appreciate  those  pleasant  scenes — those  scenes  so 
apparently  happy,  at  times  adding  a  charm  to  plantation 
life — those  innocent  merry-makings  in  spring  time — one 
must  live  among  them,  be  born  to  the  recreations  of  the 
soil.  Not  a  negro  on  the  plantation,  old  or  young,  who  / 
does  not  think  himself  part  and  parcel  of  the  scene — that  > 
he  is  indispensably  necessary  to  make  Mas'r's  enjoyment 
complete !  In  this  instance,  the  lawn,  decked  in  resplen 
dent  verdure,  the  foliage  tinged  by  the  mellow  rays  of  the 
rising  sun,  presented  a  pastoral  loveliness  that  can  only  be 
appreciated  by  those  who  have  contemplated  that  soft 


4tS  THE  MABOONINO  PABTT. 

beauty  which  pervades  a  southern  landscape  at  morning 
and  evening.  The  arbour  of  old  oaks,  their  branches 
twined  into  a  panoply  of  thick  foliage,  stretching  from  the 
mansion  to  the  landing,  seemed  like  a  sleeping  battlement, 
its  dark  clusters  soaring  above  redolent  brakes  and  spread 
ing  water-leaks.  Beneath  their  fretted  branches  hung  the 
bedewed  moss  like  a  veil  of  sparkling  crystals,  moving  gently 
to  and  fro  as  if  touched  by  some  unseen  power.  The  rice 
fields,  stretching  far  in  the  distance,  present  the  appear 
ance  of  a  mirror  decked  with  shadows  of  fleecy  clouds, 
transparent  and  sublime.  Around  the  cabins  of  the  plan 
tation  people — the  human  property — the  dark  sons  and 
daughters  of  promiscuous  families — are  in  "  heyday  glee  :" 
they  laughed,  chattered,  contended,  and  sported  over  the 
presence  of  the  party ; — the  overseer  had  given  them  an 
hour  or  two  to  see  the  party  "  gwine  so  ;"  and  they  were 
overjoyed.  Even  the  dogs,  as  if  incited  by  an  instinctive 
sense  of  some  gay  scene  in  which  they  were  to  take  part, 
joined  their  barking  with  the  jargon  of  the  negroes,  while 
the  mules  claimed  a  right  to  do  likewise.  In  the  cabins 
near  the  mansion  another  scene  of  fixing,  fussing,  toddling, 
chattering,  running  here  and  there  with  sun-slouches,  white 
aprons,  fans,  shades,  baskets,  and  tin  pans,  presented  itself ; 
any  sort  of  vessel  that  would  hold  provender  for  the  day  was 
being  brought  forth.  Clotilda,  her  face  more  cheerful,  is 
dressed  in  a  nice  drab  merino,  a  plain  white  stomacher,  a 
little  collar  neatly  turned  over :  with  her  plain  bodice,  her 
white  ruffles  round  her  wrists,  she  presents  the  embodiment 
of  neatness.  She  is  pretty,  very  pretty  ;  and  yet  her  beauty 
has  made  her  the  worst  slave— a  slave  in  the  sight  of 
Heaven  and  earth  !  Her  large,  meaning  eyes,  glow  beneath 
her  arched  brows,  while  her  auburn  hair,  laid  in  smooth 
folds  over  her  ears  and  braided  into  a  heavy  circle  at  the 
back  of  her  head,  gives  her  the  fascinating  beauty  of  a 
JSTorman  peasant.  Annette  plays  around  her,  is  dressed  in 
her  very  best, — for  Marston  is  proud  of  the  child's  beauty, 
and  nothing  is  withheld  that  can  gratify  the  ambition  of  the 
mother,  so  characteristic,  to  dress  with  fantastic  colours : 
the  child  gambols  at  her  feet,  views  its  many-coloured  dress, 
keeps  asking  various  unanswerable  questions  about  Daddy 
Bob,  Harry,  and  the  pic-nic.  Again  it  scrambles  pettishly, 
sings  snatches  of  some  merry  plantation  song,  pulls  its 


THE  MAROONING  PARTY.  49 

braided  hat  about  the  floor,  climbs  upon  the  table  to  see 
what  is  in  the  basket. 

Passing  to  the  cabin  of  Ellen  Juvarna,  we  see  her  in  the 
same  confusion  which  seems  to  have  beset  the  plantation  : 
her  dark,  piercing  eyes,  display  more  of  that  melancholy 
which  marks  Clotilda's ;  nor  does  thoughtfulness  pervade 
her  countenance,  and  yet  there  is  the  restlessness  of  an 
Indian  about  her, — she  is  Indian  by  blood  and  birth ;  her 
look  calls  up  all  the  sad  associations  of  her  forefathers  ;  her 
black  glossy  hair,  in  heavy  folds,  hangs  carelessly  about  her 
olive  shoulders,  contrasting  strangely  with  the  other. 

"  And  you,  Nicholas !  remember  what  your  father  will 
say  :  but  you  must  not  call  him  such,"  she  says,  taking  by 
the  hand  a  child  we  have  described,  who  is  impatient  to 
join  the  gay  group. 

"  That  ain't  no  harm,  mother !  Father  always  is  fondling 
about  me  when  nobody's  lookin',"  the  child  answers,  with  a 
pertness  indicating  a  knowledge  of  his  parentage  rather  in 
advance  of  his  years. 

We  pass  to  the  kitchen, — a  little,  dingy  cabin,  presenting 
the  most  indescribable  portion  of  the  scene,  the  smoke 
issuing  from  every  crevice.  Here  old  Peggy,  the  cook, — 
an  enveloped  representative  of  smoke  and  grease, — as  if 
emerging  from  the  regions  of  Vulcan,  moves  her  fat  sides 
with  the  independence  of  a  sovereign.  In  this  miniature 
smoke-pit  she  sweats  and  frets,  runs  to  the  door  every  few 
minutes,  adjusts  the  points  of  her  flashy  bandana,  and  takes 
a  wistful  look  at  the  movements  without.  Sal,  Suke,  Eose, 
and  Beck,  young  members  of  Peggy's  family,  are  working  at 
the  top  of  their  energy  among  stew-pans,  griddles,  pots  and 
pails,  baskets,  bottles  and  jugs.  Wafs,  fritters,  donjohns 
and  hominy  flap-jacks,  fine  doused  hams,  savoury  meats, 
ices,  and  fruit-cakes,  are  being  prepared  and  packed  up  for 
the  occasion.  Negro  faces  of  every  shade  seem  full  of 
interest  and  freshness,  newly  brightened  for  the  pleasures 
of  the  day.  Now  and  then  broke  upon  our  ear  that  plain 
tive  melody  with  the  words,  "  Down  on  the  Old  Planta 
tion  ;"  and  again,  "  Jim  crack  corn,  an'  I  don't  care,  for 
Mas'r's  gone  away."  Then  came  Aunt  Rachel,  always  per 
sisting  in  har  right  to  be  master  of  ceremonies,  dressed  in 
her  Sunday  bombazine,  puffed  and  flounced,  her  gingham 
apron  so  clean,  her  head  "  did  up"  with  the  flashiest 


50  THE  MAROONING  PARTY. 

bandana  in  her  wardrobe ;  its  just  the  colour  for  her  taste — • 
real  yellow,  red,  and  blue,  tied  with  that  knot  which  is  the 
height  of  plantation  toilet :  there  is  as  little  restraint  in  her 
familiarity  with  the  gentry  of  the  mansion  as  there  is  in 
her  control  over  the  denizens  of  the  kitchen.  Even  Dandy 
and  Enoch,  dressed  in  their  best  black  coats,  white  panta 
loons,  ruffled  shirts,  with  collars  endangering  their  ears, 
hair  crisped  with  an  extra  nicety,  stand  aside  at  her  bidding. 
The  height  of  her  ambition  is  to  direct  the  affairs  of  the 
mansion :  sometimes  she  extends  it  to  the  overseer.  The 
trait  is  amiably  exercised :  she  is  the  best  nigger  on  the 
plantation,  and  Marston  allows  her  to  indulge  her  feelings, 
while  his  guests  laugh  at  her  native  pomposity,  so  gene 
rously  carried  out  in  all  her  commands.  She  is  preparing 
an  elegant  breakfast,  which  "her  friends"  must  partake  of 
before  starting.  Everything  must  be  in  her  nicest :  she 
runs  from  the  ante-room  to  the  hall,  and  from  thence  to  the 
yard,  gathering  plates  and  dishes  ;  she  hurries  Old  Peggy 
the  cook,  and  again  scolds  the  waiters. 

Daddp  Bob  and  Harry  have  come  into  the  yard  to  ask 
Marston's  permission  to  join  the  party  as  boatmen.  They 
are  in  Aunt  Rachel's  way,  and  she  rushes  past  them,  push 
ing  them  aside,  and  calling  Mas'r  to  come  and  attend  to 
their  wants.  Marston  comes  forward,  greets  them  with  a 
familiar  shake  of  the  hand,  granting  their  request  without 
further  ceremony.  Breakfast  is  ready ;  but,  anxious  for 
the  amusement  of  the  day,  their  appetites  are  despoiled. 
Franconia,  more  lovely  than  ever,  presenting  that  ease, 
elegance,  and  reserve  of  the  southern  lady,  makes  her 
appearance  in  the  hall,  is  escorted  to  the  table  leaning  on 
the  arm  of  Maxwell.  Delicacy,  sensitiveness,  womanly 
character  full  of  genial  goodness,  are  traits  with  which  the 
true  southern  lady  is  blessed: — would  she  were  blessed 
with  another,  an  energy  to  work  for  the  good  of  the  en 
slaved  !  Could  she  add  that  to  the  poetry  of  her  nature, 
how  much  greater  would  be  her  charm — how  much  more 
fascinating  that  quiet  current  of  thought  with  which  she 
seems  blessed !  There  is  a  gentleness  in  her  impulses — a 
pensiveness  in  her  smile — a  softness  in  her  emotions — a 
grace  in  her  movements — an  ardent  soul  in  her  love ! 
She  is  gay  and  lightsome  in  her  youth ;  she  values  her 
beauty,  is  capricious  with  her  admirers,  and  yet  becomes 


THE  MAJBOONINO  PABT5T.  51 

the  most  affectionate  mother ;  she  can  level  her  frowns,  play 
with  the  feelings,  make  her  mercurial  sympathy  touching, 
knows  the  power  of  her  smiles  :  but  once  her  feelings  are 
enlisted,  she  is  sincere  and  ardent  in  her  responses.  If  she 
cannot  boast  of  the  bright  carnatic  cheek,  she  can  swell  the 
painter's  ideal  with  her  fine  features,  her  classic  face,  the 
glow  of  her  impassioned  eyes.  But  she  seldom  carries  this 
fresh  picture  into  the  ordinary  years  of  womanhood :  the 
bloom  enlivening  her  face  is  but  transient ;  she  loses  the 
freshness  of  girlhood,  and  in  riper  years,  fades  like  a  sensi 
tive  flower,  withering,  unhappy  with  herself,  unadmired  by 
others. 

Franconia.  sat  at  the  table,  a  peusiveness  pervading  her 
countenance  that  bespoke  melancholy  :  as  she  glanced 
inquiringly  round,  her  eyes  rested  upon  Lorenzo  fixedly, 
as  if  she  detected  something  in  his  manner  at  variance 
with  his  natural  deportment.  She  addressed  him ;  but 
his  cold  reply  only  excited  her  more :  she  resolved  upon 
knowing  the  cause  ere  they  embarked.  Breakfast  was 
scarcely  over  before  the  guests  of  the  party  from  the 
neighbouring  plantations  began  to  assemble  in  the  veranda, 
leaving  their  servants  in  charge  of  the  viands  grouped  to 
gether  upon  the  grass,  under  a  clump  of  oaks  a  few  rods 
from  the  mansion.  Soon  the  merry-makers,  about  forty  in 
number,  old  and  young,  their  servants  following,  repaired 
to  the  landing,  where  a  long  barge,  surrounded  by  brakes 
and  water-lilies,  presented  another  picture. 

"  Him  all  straight,  Mas'r — him  all  straight,  jus  so  !"  said 
Daddy  Bob,  as  he  strode  off  ahead,  singing  "  Dis  is  de 
way  to  de  jim  crack  corn." 

Servants  of  all  ages  and  colour,  mammies  and  daddies, 
young  'uns  and  prime  fellows, — "wenches"  that  had  just 
become  hand-maids, — brought  up  the  train,  dancing,  singing, 
hopping,  laughing,  and  sporting:  some  discuss  the  looks  of 
their  young  mistresses,  others  are  criticising  their  dress. 
Arrived  at  the  landing,  Daddy  Bob  and  Harry,  full  of  cares, 
are  hurrying  several  prime  fellows,  giving  orders  to  subor 
dinate  boatmen  about  getting  the  substantial  on  board, — 
the  baskets  of  champagne,  the  demijohns,  the  sparkling 
nectar.  The  young  beaux  and  belles,  mingling  with  their 
dark  sons  and  daughters  of  servitude,  present  a  motley 


52  THE  MAROON1NU  PAKTY. 

group  indeed — a  scene  from  which  the  different  issues  of 
southern  life  may  be  faithfully  drawn. 

A  band  of  five  musicians,  engaged  to  enliven  the  sports 
of  the  day  with  their  music,  announce,  "All  on  board!"  and 
give  the  signal  for  starting  by  striking  up  "  Life  on  the 
Ocean  Wav£."  Away  they  speed,  drawn  by  horses  on  the 
bank,  amidst  the  waving  of  handkerchiefs,  the  soft  notes  of 
the  music  reverberating  over  the  pine-clad  hills.  Smoothly 
and  gently,  onward  they  speed  upon  the  still  bosom  of  the 
Ashly  ; — the  deep,  dark  stream,  its  banks  bedecked  with 
blossoms  and  richest  verdure,  is  indeed  enough  to  excite 
the  romantic  of  one's  nature.  Wild,  yet  serene  with  rural 
beauty,  if  ever  sensations  of  love  steal  upon  us,  it  is  while 
mingling  in  the  simple  convivialities  so  expressive  of 
southern  life.  On,  on,  the  barge  moved,  as  lovers  gathered 
together,  the  music  dancing  upon  the  waters.  Another 
party  sing  the  waterman's  merry  song,  still  another  trail  for 
lilies,  and  a  third  gather  into  the  prow  to  test  champagne 
and  ice,  or  regale  with  choice  Havannas.  Marston,  and  a 
few  of  the  older  members,  seated  at  midships,  discuss  the 
all-absorbing  question  of  State-rights  ;  while  the  negroes  are 
as  merry  as  larks  in  May,  their  deep  jargon  sounding  high 
above  the  clarion  notes  of  the  music.  Now  it  subsides 
into  stillness,  broken  only  by  the  splashing  of  an  alligator, 
whose  sports  call  forth  a  rapturous  shout. 

After  some  three  hours'  sailing  the  barge  nears  a  jut  of 
rising  ground  on  the  left  bank.  Close  by  it  is  a  grove  of 
noble  old  pines,  in  the  centre  of  which  stands  a  dilapidated 
brick  building,  deserted  for  some  cause  not  set  forth  on  the 
door :  it  is  a  pretty,  shaded  retreat — a  spot  breathing  of 
romance.  To  the  right  are  broad  lagoons  stretching  far 
into  the  distance ;  their  dark  waters,  beneath  thick  cypress, 
presenting  the  appearance  of  an  inundated  grove.  The 
cypress-trees  hang  their  tufted  tops  over  the  water's 
surface,  opening  an  area  benea'th  studded  with  their 
trunks,  b'ke  rude  columns  supporting  a  panoply  of  foliage. 

The  barge  stops,  the  party  land ;  the  shrill  music,  still 
dancing  through  the  thick  forest,  re-echoes  in  soft  chimes  as 
it  steals  back  upon  the  scene.  Another  minute,  and  we 
hear  the  voices  of  Daddy  Bob  and  Harry,  Dandy  and  Enoch : 
they  are  exchanging  merry  laughs,  shouting  in  great  good- 


THE  MAKOON1NU  PARTT.  53 

nature,  directing  the  smaller  fry,  who  are  fagging  a\vay 
at  the  larder,  sucking  the  ice,  and  pocketing  the  lemons. 
"Dat  ain't  just  straight,  noho\v  :  got  de  tings  ashore,  an'  ye 
get  'e  share  whin  de  white  folk  done !  Don'  make  'e 
nigger  ob  yourse'f,  now,  old  Boss,  d*ing  the  ting  up  so 
nice,"  Daddy  says,  frowning  on  his  minions.  A  vanguard 
have  proceeded  in  advance  to  take  possession  of  the  deserted 
house  ;  while  Aunt  Rachel,  with  her  cortege  of  feminines,  is 
fussing  over  "  young  missus."  Here,  a  group  are  adjusting 
their  sun-shades  ;  there,  another  are  preparing  their  fans  and 
nets.  Then  they  follow  the  train,  Clotilda  and  Ellen 
leading  their  young  representatives  by  the  hand,  bringing 
up  the  rear  among  a  cluster  of  smaller  fry.  Taking  peace 
able  possession  of  the  house,  they  commence  to  clear  the 
rooms,  the  back  ones  being  reserved  for  the  sumptuous 
collation  which  Eachel  and  her  juniors  are  preparing.  The 
musicians  are  mustered, — the  young  belles  and  beaux,  and 
not  a  few  old  bachelors,  gather  into  the  front  room, 
commence  the  fetes  with  country  dances,  and  conclude  with 
the  polka  and  schottische. 

Eachel' s  department  presents  a  bustling  picture ;  she  is 
master  of  ceremonies,  making  her  sombre  minions  move  at 
her  bidding,  adjusting  the  various  dishes  upon  the  table. 
None,  not  even  the  most  favoured  guests,  dare  intrude 
themselves  into  her  apartments  until  she  announces  the 
completion  of  her  tables,  her  readiness  to  receive  friends. 
And  yet,  amidst  all  this  interest  of  character,  this  happy 
pleasantry,  this  seeming  contentment,  there  is  one  group 
pauses  ere  it  arrives  at  the  house, — dare  not  enter.  The 
distinction  seems  undefinable  to  us ;  but  they,  poor 
wretches,  feel  it  deeply.  Shame  rankles  deep,  to  their  very 
heart's  core.  They  doubt  their  position,  hesitate  at  the 
door,  and,  after  several  nervous  attempts  to  enter,  fall  back, 
— gather  round  a  pine-tree,  where  they  enjoy  the  day, 
separated  from  the  rest.  There  is  a  simplicity- — a  forloru- 
ness,  about  this  little  group,  which  attracts  our  attention, 
excites  our  sympathies,  unbends  our  curiosity :  we  would 
relieve  the  burden  it  labours  under.  They  are  Ellen  .Tuvarna, 
Clotilda,  and  their  children.  Socially,  they  are  disowned; 
they  are  not  allowed  to  join  the  festivities  with  those  in 
the  dance,  and  their  feelings  revolt  at  being  compelled  to 
associate  with  the  negroes.  They  are  as  white  as  many  of  the 


54  THE  MAROONING  PARTY. 

whitest,  have  the  same  outlines  of  interest  upon  their  faces ; 
but  their  lives  are  sealed  with  the  black  seal  of  slavery. 
Sensible  of  the  injustice  that  has  stripped  them  of  their 
rights,  they  value  their  whiteness ;  the  blood  of  birth 
tinges  their  face,  and  through  it  they  find  themselves  mere 
dregs  of  human  kind, — objects  of  sensualism  in  its  vilest 
associations. 

Maxwell  has  taken  a  deep  interest  in  Clotilda ;  and  the 
solicitude  she  manifests  for  her  child  has  drawn  him  still 
further  in  her  favour ;  he  is  determined  to  solve  the  mystery 
that  shrouds  her  history.  Drawing  near  to  them,  he  seats 
himself  upon  the  ground  at  their  side,  inquires  why  they  did 
not  come  into  the  house.  "  There's  no  place  there  for  us, — 
none  for  me,"  Clotilda  modestly  replies,  holding  down  her 
head,  placing  her  arm  around  Annette's  waist. 

"  Tou  would  enjoy  it  much  better,  and  there  is  no  restraint 
upon  anyone." 

"  We  know  not  why  the  day  was  not  for  us  to  enjoy  as 
well  as  others  ;  but  it  is  ordained  so.  Where  life  is  a  dreary 
pain,  pleasure  is  no  recompense  for  disgrace  enforced  upon 
us.  They  tell  us  we  are  not  what  God  made  us  to  be ; 
but  it  is  the  worst  torture  to  be  told  so.  There  is  nothing 
in  it — it  is  the  curse  only  that  remains  to  enforce  wrong. 
Those  who  have  gifts  to  enjoy  life,  and  those  who  move  to 
make  others  happy,  can  enjoy  their  separate  pleasures  ;  our 
lives  are  between  the  two,  hence  there  is  little  pleasure  for 
us,"  she  answered,  her  eyes  moistening  with  tears. 

"  If  you  will  but  come  with  me — " 

"  Oh,  I  will  go  anywhere,"  she  rejoined,  quickly  ;  "  any 
where  from  this  ;  that  I  may  know  who  I  am — may  bear 
my  child  with  rue  — may  lead  a  virtuous  life,  instead  of 
suffering  the  pangs  of  shame  through  a  life  of  unholy 
trouble." 

"  She  never  knows  when  she's  well  off.  If  Marston  was 
to  hear  her  talk  in  that  way,  I  wouldn't  stand  in  her  shoes," 
interrupted  Ellen,  with  a  significant  air. 

Touched  by  this  anxious  reply,  Maxwell  determined  to 
know  more  of  her  feelings — to  solve  the  anxiety  that  was 
hanging  upon  her  mind,  and,  if  possible,  to  carry  her  beyond 
the  power  tha,t  held  her  and  her  child  in  such  an  uncertain 
position. 

"  I  meant  into  the  house,"  said  he,  observing  that  Ellen 


THE  MAEOONING  PAETT.  55 

was  not  inclined  to  favour  Clotilda's  feelings ;  and  just  at 
that  moment  the  shrill  sounds  of  a  bugle  summoned  the 
party  to  the  collation.  Here  another  scene  was  enacted, 
which  is  beyond  the  power  of  pen  to  describe.  The  tables, 
decorated  with  wild  flowers,  were  spread  with  meats  of 
all  descriptions, — fowl,  game,  pastry,  and  fruit,  wines,  and 
cool  drinks.  Paces  wearing  the  blandest  smiles,  grave 
matrons,  and  cheerful  planters, — all  dressed  in  rustic  style 
and  neatness — gathered  around  to  partake  of  the  feast, 
while  servants  were  running  hither  and  thither  to  serve 
mas'r  and  missus  with  the  choicest  bits.  Toasts,  compli 
ments,  and  piquant  squibs,  follow  the  wine-cup.  Then 
came  that  picture  of  southern  life  which  would  be  more 
worthy  of  praise  if  it  were  carried  out  in  the  purity  of 
motive : — as  soon  as  the  party  had  finished,  the  older 
members,  in  their  turn,  set  about  preparing  a  repast  for  the 
servants.  This  seemed  to  elate  the  negroes,  who  sat  down 
to  their  meal  with  great  pomp,  and  were  not  restrained  in 
the  free  use  of  the  choicest  beverage.  While  this  was  going 
on,  Marston  ordered  Kachel  to  prepare  fruit  and  pastry  for 
Ellen  and  Clotilda.  "See  to  them;  and  they  must  have 
wine  too,"  whispered  Marston. 

"  I  know's  dat,  old  Boss,"  returned  Rachel,  with  a  know 
ing  wink. 

After  the  collation,  the  party  divided  into  different  sections. 
Some  enjoyed  the  dance,  others  strolled  through  the  pine- 
grove,  whispering  tales  of  love.  Anglers  repaired  to  the 
deep  pond  in  quest  of  trout,  but  more  likely  to  find  water- 
sijakes  and  snapping  turtles.  Far  in  the  distance,  on  the 
r^ht,  moving  like  fairy  gondolas  through  the  cypress- 
covered  lagoon,  little  barks  skim  the  dark  surface.  They 
move  like  spectres,  carrying  their  fair  freight,  fanned  by 
the  gentle  breeze  pregnant  with  the  magnolia's  sweet 
perfume.  The  fair  ones  in  those  tiny  barks  are  fishing; 
they  move  from  tree  to  tree  trailing  their  lines  to  tempt  the 
finny  tribe  here,  and  there  breaking  the  surface  with  their 
gambols. 

Lorenzo,  as  we  have  before  informed  the  reader,  exhibited 
signs  of  melancholy  during  the  day.  So  evident  were  they 
that  Franconia's  sympathies  became  enlisted  in  his  behalf, 
and  even  carried  so  far,  that  Maxwell  mistook  her  manner 
for  indifference  toward  himself.  And,  as  if  to  confirm  his 


56  THE  MAROONING  PARTY. 

apprehensions,  no  sooner  had  the  collation  ended  than  she 
took  Lorenzo's  arm  and  retired  to  the  remains  of  an  old 
mill,  a  few  rods  above  the  landing.  It  was  a  quiet,  seques 
tered  spot — -just  such  an  one  as  would  inspire  the  emotions  of 
a  sensitive  heart,  recall  the  associations  of  childhood,  and 
give  life  to  our  pent-up  enthusiasm.  There  they  seated 
them  selves^  the  one  waiting  for  the  other  to  speak. 

"  Tell  me,  Lorenzo,"  said  Franconia,  laying  her  hand  on 
his  arm,  and  watching  with  nervous  anxiety  each  change 
of  his  countenance,  "  why  are  you  not  joyous  ?  you  are 
gloomy  to-day.  I  speak  as  a  sister — you  are  nervous, 
faltering  with  trouble — " 

"Trouble!"  he  interrupted,  raising  his  eyes,  and  accom 
panying  an  affected  indifference  with  a  sigh.  It  is  some 
thing  he  hesitates  to  disclose.  He  has  erred !  his  heart 
speaks,  it  is  high-handed  crime !  He  looks  upon  her 
affectionately,  a  forced  smile  spreads  itself  over  his  face. 
How  forcibly  it  tells  its  tale.  "  Speak  out,"  she  continues, 
tremulously :  "  I  am  a  sister ;  a  sister  cannot  betray  a 
brother's  secrets."  She  removes  her  hand  and  lays  it  gently 
upon  his  shoulder. 

Looking  imploringly  in  her  face  fora  few  minutes,  he 
replies  as  if  it  were  an  effort  of  great  magnitude.  "  Some 
thing  you  must  not  know — nor  must  the  world !  Many 
things  are  buried  in  the  secrets  of  time  that  would 
make  great  commotion  if  the  world  knew  them.  It  were 
well  they  passed  unknown,  for  the  world  is  like  a  great 
stream  with  a  surface  of  busy  life  moving  on  its  way  above 
a  troubled  current,  lashing  and  foaming  beneath,  but  ojily 
breaking  here  and  there  as  if  to  mark  the  smothered  confflP;. 
And  yet  with  me  it  is  nothing,  a  moment  of  disappointment 
creeping  into  my  contemplations,  transplanting  them  with 
melancholy — " 

"  Something  more !"  interrupted  Franconia,  "something 
more  ;  it  is  a  step  beyond  melancholy,  more  than  disappoint 
ment.  Uncle  feels  it  sensibly — it  pains  him,  it  wears  upon 
him.  I  have  seen  it  foremost  in  his  thoughts."  Her 
anxiety  increases,  her  soft  meaning  eyes  look  upon  him 
imploringly,  she  fondles  him  with  a  sister's  tenderness,  the 
tears  trickling  down  her  cheeks  as  she  beholds  him  downcast 
and  in  sorrow.  HH  reluctance  to  disclose  the  secret  becomes 
more  painful  to  her. 


THE  MAROONING  PARTY.  57 

"  You  may  know  it  soon  enough,"  lie  replies.  "  I  have 
erred,  aud  my  errors  have  brought  me  to  a  sad  brink.  My 
friends — those  who  have  indulged  my  follies — have 
quickened  the  canker  that  will  destroy  themselves.  Indul 
gence  too  often  hastens  the  cup  of  sorrow,  and  when  it  poisons 
most,  we  are  least  conscious.  It  is  an  alluring  charmer, 
betraying  in  the  gayest  livery — " 

"  Lorenzo,"  she  interrupts,  wiping  the  tears  from  her  eyes. 
"  Tell  me  all ;  remember  woman's  influence — she  can  relieve 
others  when  she  cannot  relieve  herself.  Make  me  your 
confidant — relieve  your  feelings." 

"  This  night,  Franconia,  I  shall  bid  a  painful  good-bye  to 
those  familiar  scenes  which  have  surrounded  my  life, — to 
you,  my  sister,  to  those  faithful  old  friends  of  the  plantation, 
Daddy  Bob  and  Harry.  They  have  fondled  me,  protected 
me,  played  with  me  in  my  childhood,  led  me  to  my  boyish 
sports  when  all  was  bright  and  pleasant,  when  the  plantation 
had  its  merry  scenes  for  slave  and  master.  I  must  go 
upon  the  world,  mingle  with  strange  life,  make  experience 
my  guardian.  I  have  committed  a  crime — one  which  for  ever 
disgraces  the  honourable " 

Crime,  crime,  crime !  weighed  itself  in  her  mind.  "  And 
what  of  that  ?"  she  rejoined,  suddenly  ;  "a  sister  can  forgive 
a  brother  any  crime  ;  and  even  a  lover,  if  she  love  truly,  can 
forget  them  in  her  affections.  Do  not  go  upon  the  world ; 
be  a  man  above  crime,  above  the  bar  of  scandal.  Have 
confidence  in  yourself;  do  not  let  the  injustice  overcome 
you.  Once  on  the  world  a  wanderer,  remember  the  untold 
tale  of  misery,  speeding  its  victims  to  that  death  of  conscience 
burning  unseen." 

"  Nay,  Franconia,  you  mean  well ;  but  you  have  not 
learned  the  world.  Take  this  as  my  advice,  remember  it 
when  I  am  gone,  and  in  years  to  come  you  will  acknowledge 
its  truth  — Fortune  at  the  south  rests  on  an  unsound  foun 
dation  !  We  are  lofty  in  feelings,  but  poor  in  principle, 
poor  in  government, — poor  in  that  which  has  built  our  great 
republic.  Uncertainty  hangs  over  us  at  every  step  ;  but, 
whatever  befall  you,  stand  firm  through  adversity.  Never 
chide  others  for  the  evils  that  may  befall  you ;  bear  your 
burdens  without  casting  reflections  on  others, — it  is  nobler! 
Befriend  those  who  have  no  power  to  befriend  themselves ; 
and  when  the  world  forgets  you,  do  not  forget  yourself. 


58  THE  MAROONING  PARTY. 

There  is  no  step  of  return  for  those  who  falter  in  poverty. 
To-night  I  shall  leave  for  the  city  ;  in  a  few  days  you  will 
know  all."  Thus  saying,  he  conducted  Franconia  back 
to  rejoin  the  party,  already  making  preparations  to  return. 

He  gave  her  an  insight  of  his  troubles,  in  such  a  manner 
as  to  create  deep  agitation ;  and,  although  satisfied  that  an 
event  of  more  than  ordinary  magnitude  was  at  hand,  she 
could  not  associate  it  with  the  commission  of  crime.  The 
day,  spent  with  all  the  conviviality  of  southern  life,  ended 
amidst  the  clang  of  merry  voices,  and  soft  music :  a  gay  group 
assembled  at  the  bank,  ready  to  return  under  the  cheering 
influence  of  music  and  moonlight. 

The  bugle  sounded, — the  soft  notes  of  "  Home,  sweet 
Home!"  followed:  the  party,  forming  into  double  file,  gay 
and  grotesque,  marched  through  the  grove  to  the  barge. 
Servants,  old  and  young,  were  in  high  glee ;  some  joining  in 
chorus  with  the  music ;  some  preparing  the  barge,  others 
strewing  branches  and  flowers  in  the  pathway,  to  the 
delight  of  young  "mas'r"  and  "missus," — all  singing. 
Aunt  Rachel,  high  above  her  minions  in  authority,  is  poised 
on  the  bank,  giving  directions  at  the  very  top  of  her  voice. 
Daddy  Bob,  Harry,  and  Dandy — the  latter  named  after 
"mas'r's"  fleetest  horse — are  freighting  their  young 
"  missusses  "  in  their  arms  to  the  boat,  shielding  their  feet 
from  the  damp. 

"Now,  mas'r,  Old  Boss,"  Bob  says,  directing  himself  to 
Marston,  after  completing  his  charge  with  the  young 
ladies,  "  Jus'  lef  'um  tote,  old  mas'r  safe  da'  ?  So  'e  don' 
mus  e'  foot."  And  forthwith  he  shoulders  Marston,  lands  him 
like  a  bale  of  cotton  on  one  of  the  seats,  much  to  the  amuse 
ment  of  those  on  board,  sending  forth  shouts  of  applause. 
The  party  are  on  board  ;  all  is  quiet  for  a  minute  ;  again  the 
music  strikes  up,  the  barge  is  gliding  over  the  still  bosom 
of  the  fairy-like  stream. 

The  sun  has  just  sunk  into  a  fiery  cloud  that  hangs 
its  crimson  curtains  high  in  the  heavens,  shedding  reful 
gent  beauty  over  the  dark  jungle  lining  the  river's  banks. 
And  then,  twilight,  as  if  stealing  its  way  across  the  hills, 
follows,  softening  the  scene.  Soon  it  has  gone,  the  land 
scape  sleeps,  tranquilly  arched  by  the  serene  vault  of  a 
southern  sky.  Everything  seems  peaceful,  reposing,  and 
serene ;  the  air  breathes  warm  and  balmy,  distributing  its 


THE  MAROONING  PARTY.  59 

invigorating  influence.  The  music  has  ceased,  nothing  but 
the  ripple  of  the  water  is  heard  ;  then  the  stars,  like  pearls 
suspended  over  the  dark  surface,  begin  to  glimmer  and 
shine.  Above  all  is  the  moon,  like  a  silver  goddess,  rising 
stealthily  and  shedding  her  pale  light  upon  the  calm  glow. 

Onward,  onward,  onward,  over  the  still  stream,  winding 
its  way  to  the  great  deep,  they  move  ;  and  again  the  music 
echoes  and  re-echoes  through  the  forest,  over  the  lawn  ; 
dying  away  in  chimes  that  faintly  play  around  us. 
The  sudden  changes  in  the  heavens, — monitor  of  things 
divine, — call  up  in  Lorenzo's  feelings  the  reverses  of 
fortune  that  will  soon  take  place  on  the  plantation.  He 
had  never  before  recognised  the  lesson  conveyed  by  heavenly 
bodies ;  and  such  was  the  effect  at  that  moment  that  it 
proved  a  guardian  to  him  in  his  future  career. 

It  was  near  midnight  when  the  barge  reached  the  planta 
tion.  Fires  were  lighted  on  the  bank,  negroes  were  here  and 
there  stretched  upon  the  ground,  sleeping  with  such  super 
lative  comfort  that  it  landed  ere  they  awoke.  One  by  one 
the  parties  returned  for  their  homes ;  and,  after  shaking 
hands  with  Marston,  taking  an  affectionate  adieu  of  Fran- 
conia  (telling  her  he  would  call  on  the  morrow),  lisping  a 
kind  word  to  the  old  negroes,  Lorenzo  ordered  a  horse,  and 
]  ft  for  the  city.  He  took  leave  of  the  plantation,  of  it.j 
dearest  associations,  like  one  who  had  the  conflict  of  battle  before 
him,  and  the  light  of  friendship  behind. 
5 


CHAPTER  VI. 

ANOTHER  SCENE  IN  SOUTHERN  LIFE. 

IN  the  city,  a  few  miles  from  the  plantation,  a  scene  which  too 
often  affords  those  degrading  pictures  that  disgrace  a  free  and 
happy  country,  was  being  enacted.  A  low  brick  building,  stand 
ing  in  an  area  protected  by  a  high  fence,  surmounted  with 
spikes  and  other  dangerous  projectiles,  formed  the  place.  The 
upper  and  lower  windows  of  this  building  were  strongly  se 
cured  with  iron  gratings,  and  emitted  the  morbid  air  from  cells 
scarcely  large  enough  to  contain  human  beings  of  ordinary 
size.  In  the  rear,  a  sort  of  triangular  area  opened,  along  which 
was  a  line  of  low  buildings,  display  ing  single  and  double  cells. 
Some  had  iron  rings  in  the -floor;  some  had  rings  in  the  walls; 
and,  again,  others  had  rings  over  head.  Some  of  these  con 
fines  of  misery — for  here  men's  souls  were  goaded  by  the  ava 
rice  of  our  natures — were  solitary  ;  and  at  night,  when  the  tur 
moil  of  the  day  had  ceased,  human  wailings  and  the  clank  of 
chains  might  be  heard  breaking  through  the  walls  of  this 
charnel-house.  These  narrow  confines  were  filled  with  living 
brings — beings  with  souls,  souls  sold  according  to  the 
privileges  of  a  free  and  happy  country, — a  country  that  fills 
us  with  admiration  of  its  greatness.  It  is  here,  O  man, 
the  tyrant  sways  his  hand  most !  it  is  here  the  flesh  and 
blood  of  the  same  Maker,  in  chains  of  death,  yearns  for 
freedom. 

We  walk  through  the  corridor,  between  narrow  arches 
containing  the  abodes  of  misery,  while  our  ears  drink  the  sad 
melancholy  that  sounds  in  agitated  throbs,  made  painful  by 
the  gloom  and  darkness.  Touching  an  iron  latch,  the  door 
of  a  cell  opens,  cold  and  damp,  as  if  death  sat  upon  its  walls  ; 
but  it  discloses  no  part  of  the  inmate's  person,  and  excites 
our  sympathies  still  more.  "We  know  the  unfortunate  is 
there, — we  hear  the  murmuring,  like  a  death-bell  in  our 
ears ;  it  is  mingled  with  a  dismal  chaos  of  sound,  piercing 
deep  into  our  feelings.  It  tells  us  in  terror  how  gold  blasts 


ANOTHER  SCENE  IN  SOUTHERN  LIFE.  61 

the  very  soul  of  man — what  a  dark  monster  of  cruelty  he 
can  become, — how  he  can  forget  the  grave,  and  think  only 
of  his  living  self, — how  he  can  strip  reason  of  its  right,  making 
himself  an  animal  with  man  for  his  food.  See  the  monster 
seeking  only  for  the  things  that  can  serve  him  on  earth — see 
him  stripping  man  of  his  best  birth-right,  see  him  the  raving 
fiend,  unconscious  of  his  hell-born  practices,  dissevering  the 
hope  that  by  a  fibre  hangs  over  the  ruins  of  those  beings 
who  will  stand  in  judgment  against  him.  His  soul,  like 
their  faces,  will  be  black,  when  theirs  has  been  whitened  for 
judgment  in  the  world  to  come ! 

Ascending  a  few  steps,  leading  into  a  centre  building 
— where  the  slave  merchant  is  polished  into  respecta 
bility — we  enter  a  small  room  at  the  right  hand.  Several 
men,  some  having  the  appearance  of  respectable  merchants, 
some  dressed  in  a  coarse,  red-mixed  homespun,  others 
smoking  cigars  very  leisurely,  are  seated  at  a  table,  upon 
which  are  several  bottles  and  tumblers.  They  drank 
every  few  minutes,  touched  glasses,  uttered  the  vilest 
imprecations.  Conspicuous  among  them  is  Marco  Graspum: 
it  is  enough  that  we  have  before  introduced  him  to  the 
reader  at  Marston's  mansion.  His  dark  peering  eyes 
glisten  as  he  sits  holding  a  glass  of  liquor  in  one  hand,  and 
runs  his  fingers  through  his  bristly  hair  with  the  other. 
"  The  depths  of  trade  are  beyond  some  men,"  he  says, 
striking  his  hand  on  the  table  ;  then,  catching  up  a  paper, 
tears  it  into  pieces.  "  Only  follow  my  directions,  and  there 
gan  be  no  missing  your  man,"  he  continued,  addressing 
one  who  sat  opposite  to  him  ;  and  who  up  to  that  time  had 
been  puffing  his  cigar  with  great  unconcern.  His  whole 
energies  seemed  roused  to  action  at  the  word.  After  keep 
ing  his  eyes  fixed  upon  Graspum  for  more  than  a  minute,  he 
replied,  at  the  same  time  replenishing  his  cigar  with  a 
fresh  one — 

•'  Yee'h  sees,  Marco, — you'r  just  got  to  take  that  ar'  say 
back,  or  stand  an  all-fired  chaffing.  You  don't  scar'  this  'un, 
on  a  point  a'  business.  If  I  hain't  larned  to  put  in  the  big 
pins,  no  fellow  has.  When  ye  wants  to  '  sap  '  a  tall  'un, 
like  Marston,  ye  stands  shy  until  ye  thinks  he's  right  for 
pulling,  and  then  ye'll  make  a  muffin  on  him,  quicker.  But, 
ye  likes  to  have  yer  own  way  in  gettin'  round  things,  so  that 
a  fellow  can't  stiak  a  pinte  to  make  a  hundred  or  two  unless 


62         ANOTHER  SCENE  IN  SOUTHERN  LIFE. 

he  weaves  his  way  clean  through  the  law — unless  he  under 
stands  Mr.  Justice,  and  puts  a  double  blinder  on  his  eye. 
There's  nothing  like  getting  on  the  right  side  of  a  fellow 
what  knows  how  to  get  on  the  wrong  side  of  the  law  :  and 
seeing  how  I've  studied  Mr.  Justice  a  little  bit  better  than 
he's  studied  his  books,  I  knows  just  what  can  be  done  with 
him  when  a  feller's  got  chink  in  his  pocket.  You  can't 
buy  'em,  sir,  they're  so  modest ;  but  you  can  coax  'em  at  a 
mighty  cheaper  rate — you  can  do  that !"  "  And  ye  can  make 
him  feel  as  if  law  and  his  business  warn' t  two  and  two," 
rejoined  Anthony  Homescos,  a  lean,  wiry  man,  whose  small 
indescribable  face,  very  much  sun-scorched,  is  covered  with 
bright  sandy  hair,  matted  and  uncombed.  His  forehead  is 
low,  the  hair  grows  nearly  to  his  eyebrows,  profuse  and  red  ; 
his  eyes  wander  and  glisten  with  desperation ;  he  is  a 
merciless  character.  Men  fear  him,  dread  him  ;  he  sets  the 
law  at  defiance,  laughs  when  he  is  told  he  is  the  cunningest 
rogue  in  the  county.  He  owns  to  the  fearful ;  says  it  has 
served  him  through  many  a  hard  squeeze  ;  but  now  that  he 
finds  law  so  necessary  to  carry  out  villainy,  he's  taken  to 
studying  it  himself.  His  dress  is  of  yellow  cotton,  of  which 
he  has  a  short  roundabout  and  loose  pantaloons.  His  shirt 
bosom  is  open,  the  collar  secured  at  the  neck  with  a  short 
black  ribbon ;  he  is  much  bedaubed  with  tobacco-juice, 
which  he  has  deposited  over  his  clothes  for  the  want  of  a 
more  convenient  place.  A  gray,  slouch  hat  usually  adorns 
his  head,  which,  in  consequence  of  the  thinking  it  does, 
needs  a  deal  of  scratching.  Reminding  us  how  careful  he- 
is  of  his  feet,  he  shows  them  ensconced  in  a  pair  of  Indian 
moccasins  ornamented  with  bead- work  ;  and,  as  if  we  had 
not  become  fully  conscious  of  his  power,  he  draws  aside 
his  roundabout,  and  there,  beneath  the  waist  of  his  panta 
loons,  is  a  girdle,  to  which  a  large  hunting-knife  is  attached, 
some  five  inches  of  the  handle  protruding  above  the  belt. 
"  Now,  fellers,  I  tell  ye  what's  what,  ye'r  point-up  at 
bragin' ;  but  ye  don't  come  square  up  to  the  line  when 
there's  anything  to  put  through  what  wants  pluck.  'Tain't 
what  a  knowin'  'un  like  I  can  do ;  it's  just  what  he  can 
larn  to  be  with  a  little  training  in  thinga  requiring  spunk. 
I'm  a  going  to  have  a  square  horse,  or  no  horse  ;  if  I  don't, 
by  the  great  Davy,  I'll  back  out  and  do  business  on  my  own 
account. —  Anthony  Romescos  always  makes  hia  mark  and 


AJSOTHEB  SCENE  IN  SOUTHERN  LIFE.  63 

then  masters  it.  If  ye  don't  give  Anthony  a  fair  showin', 
he'll  set  up  business  on  his  own  account,  and  pocket 
the  corains  in.  Now !  thar's  Dan  Bengal  and  his 
dogs ;  they  can  do  a  thing  or  two  in  the  way  of  trade  now 
and  then  ;  but  it  requires  the  cunnin  as  well  as  the  plucky 
part  of  a  feller.  It  makes  a  great  go  when  they're  com 
bined,  though, — they  ala's  makes  sure  game  and  slap-up 
profit." 

"  Hold  a  stave,  Anthony,"  interrupted  a  grim-visaged 
individual  who  had  just  filled  his  glass  with  whiskey,  which 
he  declared  was  only  to  counteract  the  effect  of  what  he 
had  already  taken.  He  begs  they  will  not  think  him  half 
so  stupid  as  he  seems,  says  he  is  always  well  behaved  in 
genteel  society,  and  is  fully  convinced  from  the  appearance 
of  things  that  they  are  all  gentlemen.  He  wears  a  semi- 
baudittical  garb,  which,  with  his  csaven  features,  presents 
his  character  in  all  its  repulsiveness.  "  You  needn't  reckon 
on  that  courage  o'  yourn,  old  fellow ;  this  citizen  can  go 
two  pins  above  it.  If  you  wants  a  showin',  just  name  the 
mark.  I've  seed  ye  times  enough, — how  ye  would  not 
stand  ramrod  when  a  nigger  looked  lightning  at  ye.  Twice 
I  seed  a  nigger  make  ye  show  flum  ;  and  ye  darn't  make  the 
cussed  critter  toe  the  line  trim  up,  nohow,"  he  mumbles  out, 
dropping  his  tumbler  on  the  table,  spilling  his  liquor. 
They  are  Grraspum's  ''men;"  they  move  as  he  directs — 
carry  out  his  plans  of  trade  in  human  flesh.  Through  these 
promulgators  of  his  plans,  his  plots,  his  desperate  games, 
he  has  become  a  mighty  man  of  trade.  They  are  all  his 
good  fellows — they  are  worth  their  weight  in  gold ;  but 
he  can  purchase  their  souls  for  any  purpose,  at  any  price  ! 
"  Ah,  yes,  I  see — the  best  I  can  do  don't  satisi'y.  My 
good  fellows,  you  are  plum  up  on  business,  do  the  square 
thing ;  but  you're  becomin'  a  little  too  familiar.  Doing  the 
nigger  business  is  one  thing,  and  choosing  company's 
another.  Eemember,  gentlemen,  I  hold  a  position  in 
society,  I  do,"  says  Graspum,  all  the  dignity  of  his  dear  self 
glowing  in  his  countenance. 

"  I  see  !  There's  no  spoilin'  a  gentleman  what's  got  to 
be  one  by  his  merits  in  trade.  Thar's  whar  ye  takes  the 
shine  out  of  us.  Y'er  gentleman  gives  ye  a  right  smart 
chance  to  walk  into  them  ai-'  big  bugs  what's  careless, — don't 
think  yer  comin'  it  over  'em  with  a  sort  o'  dignity  what 


64  ANOTHER  SCENE  IN  SOUTHEBN  -LIFE. 

don't  'tract  no  s'picion."  rejoined  Komescos,  taking  up  his 
hat,  and  placing  it  carelessly  on  his  head,  as  if  to  assure 
Grraspum  that  he  is  no  better  than  the  rest. 

"  Comprehend  me,  comprehend  me,  gentlemen  !  There 
can,  and  must  be,  dignity  in  nigger  trading ;  it  can  be  made 
as  honourable  as  any  other  branch  of  business.  For  there 
is  an  intricacy  about  our  business  requiring  more  dignity 
and  ability  than  general  folks  know.  You  fellers  couldn't 
carry  out  the  schemes,  run  the  law  down,  keep  your  finger 
on  people's  opinion,  and  them  sort  o'  things,  if  I  didn't  take 
a  position  in  society  what  'ud  ensure  puttin'  ye  straight 
through.  South's  the  place  where  position's  worth  some- 
thin'  ;  and  then,  when  we  acts  independent,  and  don't  look 
as  if  Mre  cared  two  toss-ups,  ah  !  " 

"  I  wonder  you  don't  set  up  a  dignity  shop,  and  go  to 
selling  the  article ; — might  have  it  manufactured  to  sell 
down  south." 

"  Ah,  Romescos,"  continued  Graspum,  "  you  may  play  the 
fool ;  but  you  must  play  it  wisely  to  make  it  profitable. 
Here,  position  puts  law  at  defiance ! — here  it  puts  croakers 
over  humanity  to  rest — here,  when  it  has  money,  it  makes 
lawyers  talk  round  the  points,  get  fat  among  themselves, 
fills  the  old  judge's  head  with  anything  ;  so  that  he  laughs 
and  thinks  he  don't  know  nothin'.  Listen  to  what  I'm 
goin'  to  say,  because  you'll  all  make  somethin'  out  on't. 
I've  just  got  the  dignity  to  do  all ;  and  with  the  coin  to  back 
her  up,  can  safe  every  chance.  When  you  fellers  get  into  a 
snarl  running  off  a  white  'un,  or  a  free  nigger,  I  has  to  bring 
out  the  big  talk  to  make  it  seem  how  you  didn't  understand 
the  thing.  'Tain't  the  putting  the  big  on,  but  it's  the 
keepin'  on  it  on.  You'd  laugh  to  see  how  I  does  it ; 
it's  the  way  I  keeps  you  out  of  limbo,  though." 

We  have  said  these  men  were  Graspum's  "men;"  they 
are  more — they  are  a  band  of  outlaws,  who  boast  of  living 
in  a  free  country,  where  its  institutions  may  be  turned  into 
despotism.  They  .  carry  on  a  system  of  trade  in  human 
bodies ;  they  stain  the  fairest  spots  of  earth  with  their 
crimes.  They  set  law  at  defiance — they  scoff  at  the 
depths  of  hell  that  yawn  for  them, — the  blackness  of  their 
villainy  is  known  only  in  heaven.  Earth  cares  little  for  it  ; 
and  those  familiar  with  the  devices  of  dealers  in  human 
bodies  shrink  from  the  shame  of  making  them  known  to 


ANOTHEll  SCZNE  IN  SOUTHERN  LIFE.  65 

the  world.  There  was  a  discontent  in  the  party,  a  clashing 
of  interests,  occasioned  by  the  meagre  manner  in  which 
Graspum.  had  divided  the  spoils  of  their  degradation.  He 
had  set  his  dignity  and  position  in  society  at  a  mucn 
higher  valne  than  they  were  willing  to  recognise, — especially 
when  it  was  to  share  the  spoils  in  proportion.  Dan  Bengal, 
so  called  from  his  ferocity  of  character,  was  a  celebrated 
dog-trainer  and  negro-hunter,  "  was  great  in  doing  the 
savager  portion  of  negro  business."  This,  Romescos  con 
tended,  did  not  require  so  much  cunning  as  his  branch  of 
the  business — which  was  to  find  "loose  places,"  where 
doubtful  whites  see  out  remnants  of  the  Indian  race,  and 
free  negroes  could  be  found  easy  objects  of  prey ;  to  lay 
plots,  do  the  "sharp,"  carry  out  plans  for  running  all  free 
rubbish  down  south,  where  they  would  sell  for  something. 

"True!  it's  all  true  as  sunshine,"  says  Romescos ;  ''we( 
understand  Mr.  Graspum  inside  and  out.  But  ye  ain't 
paid  a  dime  to  get  me  out  of  any  scrape.  I  was  larned  to 
nigger  business  afore  I  got  into  the  'tarnal  thing ;  and 
when  I  just  gits  me  eye  on  a  nigger  what  nobody  don't 
own,  I  comes  the  sly  over  him — puts  him  through  a  course 
of  nigger  diplomacy.  The  way  he  goes  down  to  the 
Mississippi  is  a  caution  to  nigger  property !" 

He  has  enlisted  their  attention,  all  eyes  are  set  upon  him, 
every  voice  calls  out  to  know  his  process.  He  begs  they 
•will  drink  round  ;  they  fill  their  glasses,  and  demand  that 
he  will  continue  the  interest  of  his  story. 

"  My  plans  are  worth  a  fortune  to  those  who  follow  the 
business,"  he  says,  giving  his  glass  a  twirl  as  he  sets  it  upon 
the  table,  and  commences — 

"  Born  'cute,  you  see  ;  trade  comes  natural.  Afore  a  free 
'un  don't  know  it,  I  has  him  bonded  and  tucked  off  for  eight 
or  nine  hundred  dollars,  slap-up,  cash  and  all.  And  then, 
ye  sees,  it's  worth  somethin'  in  knowin'  who  to  sell  such 
criturs  too — so  that  the  brute  don't  git  a  chance  to  talk 
about  it  without  getting  his  back  troubled.  And  then,  it 
requires  as  much  knowin'  as  a  senator's  got  just  to  fix 
things  as  smooth  so  nobody  won't  know  it ;  and  just  like 
ye  can  jingle  the  coin  in  yer  pocket,  for  the  nigger,  what 
everybody's  wonderin'  where  he  can  be  gone  to.  1  tell  yv. 
what,  it  takes  some  stameny  to  keep  the  price  of  a  prune 
feller  in  your  pocket,  and  wonder,  along  with  the  rest 


60  AKOTUEB  SCENE  IX  SOUTHEHN    1,IFE. 

where  the  rascal  can  be.  If  you'd  just  see  Bob  Demand 
doe  it  up,  you'd  think  his  face  was  made  for  a  methodist 
deacon  in  camp  meeting-time.  The  way  lie  comes  it  when 
he  wants  to  prove  a  free  nigger's  a  runaway,  would  beat 
all  the  disciples  of  Blackstone  between  here  and  old  Ken- 
tack.  And  then,  Bob's  any  sort  of  a  gentleman,  what  you 
don't  get  in  town  every  day,  and  wouldn't  make  a  bad 
senator,  if  he'd  bin  in  Congress  when  the  compromise  was 
settled  upon, — 'cos  he  can  reason  right  into  just  nothin'  at 
all.  Ye  see  it  ain't  the  feelings  that  makes  a  feller  a  gentle 
man  in  our  business,  it's  knowing  the  human  natur  O 
things  ;  how  to  be  a  statesman,  when  ye  meets  the  like , 
how  to  be  a  gentleman,  and  talk  polite  things,  and  sich 
like ;  how  to  be  a  jolly  fellow,  an'  put  the  tall  sayings 
into  the  things  of  life;  and  when  ye  gets  among  the  lawyers, 
to  know  all  about  the  pintes  of  the  law,  and  how  to  cut  off 
the  corners,  so  they'll  think  ye' re  bin  a  parish  judge.  And 
then,  when  ye  comes  before  the  squire,  just  to  talk  dignity 
to  him — tell  him  where  the  law  is  what  he  don't  seem  to 
comprehend.  You've  got  to  make  aright  good  feller  of  the 
squire  by  sticking  a  fee  under  his  vest-pocket  when  he 
don't  obsarve  it.  And  then,  ye  know,  when  ye  make  the 
squire  a  right  good  feller,  you  must  keep  him  to  the  point ; 
and  when  there's  any  swarin'  to  be  done,  he's  just  as  easily 
satisfied  as  the  law.  It's  all  business,  you  see ;  and  thar's 
just  the  same  kind  a  thing  in  it ;  because  profit  rules  principle, 
and  puts  a  right  smart  chance  o'  business  into  their  hands 
without  troubling  their  consciences.  But  then,  Bob  ain't 
got  the  cunnin'  in  him  like  I — nor  he  can't  "  rope-in  on  the 
sly," — knock  down  and  drag  out,  and  just  tell  a  whole 
possee  to  come  on,  as  I  do.  And  that's  what  ye  don't  seem 
to  come  at,  Graspum,"  said  Romescos,  again  filling  his  glass, 
and  drawing  a  long  black  pipe  from  his  pocket  prepares  it 
for  a  smoke. 

"  Now,  the  trouble  is,  you  all  think  you  can  carry  out 
these  matters  on  your  own  hook  ;  but  it's  no  go,  and  you'll 
find  it  so.  It's  a  scheme  that  must  have  larger  means  at  the 
head  of  it;  and  each  man's  rights  must  be  stipulated,  ami 
paid  according  to  his  own  enterprise.  But  this  discon 
tent  is  monstrous  and  injurious,  and  if  continued  will  prove 
unprofitable.  You  sec,  tellers,  you've  no  responsibility,  and 
my  position  is  your  protection,  and  if  you  don't  get  rich,  you 


ANOTHER  SCENE  IN  SOUTHERN  LIFE.  67 

must  not  charge  the  blame  to  me ;  and  then  just  see  how 
you  live  now  to  what  you  did  when  ranging  the  piny  woods 
and  catching  a  stray  nigger  here  and  there,  what  didn't 
hardly  pay  dog  money.  There's  a  good  deal  in  the  sport  of  the 
thing,  too  ;  and  ye  know  it  amounts  to  a  good  deal  to  do  the 
gentleman  and  associate  with  big  folks,  who  puts  the  business 
into  one's  hands,  by  finding  out  who's  got  lean  purses  and 
prime  niggers,"  rejoined  Graspum,  very  coolly. 

"  Ah,  yes ;  that's  the  way  ye  comes  it  over  -these  haristo- 
crats,  by  doin'  the  modest.  Now,  Graspum,  'tain't  no 
trouble  to  leak  a  sap  like  '  that  Lorenzo,  and  make  his 
friends  stand  the  blunt  after  we've  roped  him  into  your 
fixings,"  replied  Romescos. 

"  So,  no ;  riot  a  bit  of  it,"  resounded  several  voices. 
"  "We  do  all  the  dragwork  with  the  niggers,  and  Graspum 
gets  the  tin." 

"  But  he  pays  for  the  drink.  Come,  none  of  this  bicker 
ing  ;  we  must  agree  upon  business,  and  do  the  thing  up 
brown  under  the  old  system,"  interrupted  another. 

"  Hold !  close  that  bread  trap  o'  yourn,"  Romescos 
snout  a  at  the  top  of  his  voice.  "  You're  only  a  green  croaker 
from  the  piny  woods,  where  gophers  crawl  independent ;  you 
ain't  seen  life  on  the  borders  of  Texas.  Fellers,  I  can  whip 
any  man  in  the  crowd, — can  make  the  best  stump  speech, 
can  bring  up  the  best  logic ;  and  can  prove  that  the  best 
frightenin'  man  is  the  best  man  in  the  nigger  business. 
Now,  if  you  wants  a  brief  sketch  of  this  child's  history,  ye 
can  have  it."  Here  Romescos  entered  into  an  interesting 
account  of  himself.  He  was  the  descendant  of  a  good 
family,  living  in  the  city  of  Charleston ;  his  parents,  when  a 
youth,  had  encouraged  his  propensities  for  bravery.  With 
out  protecting  them  with  that  medium  of  education  which 
assimilates  courage  with  gentlemanly  conduct,  carrying  out 
the  nobler  impulses  of  our  nature,  they  allowed  him  to 
roam  in  that  sphere  which  produces  its  ruffians.  At  the  age 
of  fifteen  he  entered  a  counting-room,  when  his  quick 
mercurial  temperament  soon  rendered  him  expert  at  its 
minor  functions.  Three  years  had  hardly  elapsed  when,  in 
a  moment  of  passion,  he  drew  his  dirk,  (a  weapon  he  always 
carried)  and,  in  making  a  plunge  at  his  antagonist,  inflicted  a 
wound  in  the  breast  of  a  near  friend.  The  wound  was  deep, 
and  proved  fatal.  For  this  he  was  arraigned  before  a  jury, 


68  ANOTHER  SCENE  IN  SOUTHERN  LIFE. 

tried  for  his  life.     He  proved  the  accident  by  an  existing 
friendship — he  was  honourably  acquitted.     His  employer, 
after  reproaching  him  for  his  proceedings,  again  admitted 
him  into  his  employment.     Such,  however,  was  his  inclina 
tion  to  display  the  desperado,  that  before  the  expiration  of 
another  year  he  killed  a  negro,  shot  two  balls  at  one  of  his 
fellows,  one  of  which  was  well  nigh  proving  fatal,  and  left 
the  state.      His  recklessness,  his  previous  acts  of  malig 
nity,    his   want   of  position,    all    left   him  little    hope    of 
escaping  the  confines  of  a  prison.     Fleeing  to  parts  unknown, 
his  absence  relieved  the  neighbourhood  of  a  responsibility. 
For  a  time,  he  roamed  among  farmers  and  drovers  in  the 
mountains  of  Tennessee ;  again  he  did  menial  labour,  often 
forced  to  the  direst  necessity  to  live.     One  day,  when  nearly 
famished,  he  met  a  slave-driver,  conducting  his  cq/te  towards 
the  Mississippi,  to  whom  he  proffered  his   services.      The 
coarse  driver  r  adily   accepted   them ;    they   proceeded  on 
together,  and  it  was  not  long  before  they  found  themselves 
fitting   companions.       The    one  was  desperate — the    other 
traded  in  desperation.     An  ardent  nature,  full  of  courage 
and  adventure,  was  a  valuable  acquisition  to  the  dealer,  who 
found  that  he  had  enlisted  a  youngster  capable  of  relieving 
him  of  inflicting  that  cruelty  so  necessary  to  his  profession. 
With  a  passion  for  inflicting  torture,  this  youth  could  now 
gratify  •  it   upon  those  unfortunate  beings   of    merchandise 
who  were  being  driven  to  the  shambles  :  he  could  gloat  in  the 
exercise,  of  those  natural  propensities  which  made  the  inflic 
tion  of  pain  a  pleasant  recreation.     In  the  trade  of  human 
flesh  all  these  cruel  traits  became  valuable;  they  enabled 
him  to  demand  a  good  price  for  his  services.     Initiated  in 
all  the  mysteries  of  tMe  trade,  he  was  soon  entrusted  with 
gangs  of  very  considerable  extent ;  then  he  made  purchases, 
laid  plans   to  entrap  free  negroes,  performed  the  various 
intricacies  of  procuring  affidavits  with  which  to  make  slave 
property  out  of  free  flesh.  Nature  was  nature,  and  what  was 
hard  in  him  soon  became  harder ;  he  could  crib  "  doubtful 
white  stuff"    that  was  a  nuisance  among  folks,  and  sell 
it    for    something   he    could  put  in  his  pocket.      In  this 
way  E-omescos  accumulated  several  hundred  dollars;  but 
avarice  increased,  and  with  it  his  ferocity.     It  belonged  to 
the  trade,  a  trade  of  wanton  depravity.     He  became  the 
terror  of  those  who  assumed  to  look  upon  a  negro's  suffer- 


ANOTHER  SCENE  IN  SOUTHERN  LIFE.         69 

ings  with  sympathy,  scoffing  at  the  finer  feelings  of  mankind. 
Twice  had  his  rapacity  been  let  loose — twice  had  it  nearly 
brought  him  to  the  gallows,  or  to  the  tribunal  of  Judge  Lynch. 
And  now,  when  completely  inured  in  the  traffic  of  human 
flesh, — that  traffic  which  transposes  man  into  a  demon,  his 
progress  is  checked  for  a  while  by  a  false  step. 

It  was  this ;  and  this  only  to  the  deep  disgrace  of 
the  freest  and  happiest  country  on  earth.  A  poor  orphan 
girl,  like  many  of  her  class  in  our  hospitable  slave 
world,  had  been  a  mere  cast-off  upon  the  community.  She 
knew  nothing  of  the  world,  was  ignorant,  could  neither  read 
nor  write, — something  quite  common  in  the  south,  but 
seldom  known  in  New  England.  Thus  she  became  the 
associate  of  depraved  negroes,  and  again,  served  Romescos 
as  a  victim.  Not  content  with  this,  after  becoming  tired 
of  her,  he  secured  her  in  the  slave-pen  of  one  of  his  fellow 
traders.  Here  he  kept  her  for  several  weeks,  closely 
confined,  feeding  her  with  grits.  Eventually  "running"  her 
to  Vicksburg,  he  found  an  accomplice  to  sign  a  bill  of 
cale,  by  which  he  sold  her  to  a  notorious  planter,  who 
carried  her  into  the  interior.  The  wretched  girl  had 
qualities  which  the  planter  saw  might,  with  a  little  care,  be 
made  extremely  valuable  in  the  New  Orleans  market, — one 
was  natural  beauty.  She  was  not  suitable  property  for  the 
agricultural  department  of  either  a  cotton  or  sugar  planta-  i 
tion,  nor  was  she  "  the  stripe"  to  increase  prime  stock ;  j 
hence  she  must  be  prepared  for  the  general  market.  When 
qualified  according  to  what  the  planter  knew  would  suit  the 
fancy  market,  she  was  conveyed  to  New  Orleans,  a  piece  of 
property  bright  as  the  very  brightest,  very  handsome,  not 
very  intelligent, — just  suited  to  the  \fcints  of  bidders. 

Here,  at  the  shambles  in  the  crescent  city,  she  remained 
guarded,  and  for  several  weeks  was  not  allowed  to  go 
beyond  the  door-sill ;  after  which  a  sale  was  effected  of  her 
with  the  keeper  of  a  brothel,  for  the  good  price  of  thirteen 
hundred  dollars.  In  this  sink  of  iniquity  she  remained 
nearly  two  years.  Fearing  the  ulterior  consequences,  she 
dared  not  assert  her  rights  to  freedom,  she  dared  not  say 
she  was  born  free  in  a  free  country.  Her  disappearance 
from  the  village  in  which  she  had  been  reared  caused  some 
excitement ;  but  it  soon  reduced  itself  to  a  very  trifling 
affair.  Indeed,  white  trash  like  this  was  considered  little 


70  ANOTHER  SCEN.E  IJS   SOUTHERN 

else  than  rubbish,  not  worth  bringing  up  respectably.  And 
while  suspicion  pointed  to  Romescos,  as  the  person  who 
could  account  for  her  mysterious  disappearance,  such  was 
the  fear  of  his  revenge  that  no  one  dared  be  the  accuser. 
Quietly  matters  rested,  poor  virtue  was  mean  merchandise, 
had  its  value,  could  be  bought  and  sold — could  be  turned 
to  various  uses,  except  enlisting  the  sympathies  of  those 
who  study  it  as  a  market  commodity.  A  few  days 
passed  and  all  was  hushed ;  no  one  enquired  about  the 
poor  orphan,  Martha  Johnson.  In  the  hands  of  her  creole 
owner,  who  held  her  as  a  price  for  licentious  purposes,  she 
associated  with  gentlemen  of  polite  manners — of  wealth  and 
position.  Even  this,  though  profane,  had  advantages,  which 
she  employed  for  the  best  of  purposes  ;  she  learned  to  read 
and  to  write, — to  assimilate  her  feelings  with  those  of  a 
higher  class.  Society  had  '  degraded  her,  she  had  not 
degraded  herself.  One  night,  as  the  promiscuous  company 
gathered  into  the  drawing-room,  she  recognised  a  young 
man  from  her  native  village ;  the  familiar  face  inspired  her 
with  joy,  her  heart  leaped  with  gladness  ;  he  had  befriended 
her  poor  mother — she  knew  he  had  kind  feelings,  and 
would  be  her  1'riend  once  her  story  was  told.  The  moments 
passed  painfully ;  she  watched  him  restlessly  through  the 
dance, — sat  at  his  side.  Still  he  did  not  recognise  her, — 
toilet  had  changed  her  for  another  being ;  but  she  had 
courted  self-respect  rather  than  yielded  to  degradation. 
Again  she  made  signs  to  attract  his  attention ;  she  passed 
and  repassed  him,  and  failed.  Have  I  thus  changed,  she 
thought  to  herself. 

At  length  she  succeeded  in  attracting  his  attention ; 
she  drew  him  aside,*  then  to  her  chamber.  In  it  she 
disclosed  her  touching  narrative,  unfolded  her  sorrows, 
appealed  to  him  with  tears  in  her  eyes  to  procure  her  freedom 
and  restore  her  to  her  rights.  Her  story  enlisted  the  better 
feelings  of  a  man,  while  her  self-respect,  the  earnestness 
with  which  she  pleaded  her  deliverance,  and  the  heartless- 
ness  of  the  act,  strongly  rebuked  the  levity  of  those  who 
had  made  her  an  orphan  outcast  in  her  own  village.  She 
was  then  in  the  theatre  of  vice,  surrounded  by  its  allure 
ments,  consigned  to  its  degradation,  a  prey  to  libertinism 
— yet  respecting  herself.  The  object  of  his  visit  among  the 
denizens  was  changed  to  a  higher  mission,  a  duty  which 


ANOTHER  SCENE  IN  SOUTHERN  LIFE.  71 

he  owed  to  his  moral  life, — to  his  own  manliness.  He 
promised  his  mediation  to  better  her  eventful  and  myste 
rious  life,  to  be  a  friend  to  her  ;  and  nobly  did  he  keep  his 
promise.  On  the  following  day  he  took  measures  for  her 
rescue,  and  though  several  attempts  were  made  to  wrest 
her  from  him,  and  the  mendacity  of  slave-dealers  summoned 
to  effect  it,  he  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  her  restored  to 
her  native  village, — to  freedom,  to  respectability.* 

Proceedings  were  after  some  delay  commenced  against 
Romescos,  but, — we  trust  it  was  not  through  collusion  with 
officials — he  escaped  the  merited  punishment  that  would 
have  been  inflicted  upon  him  by  a  New  England  tribunal. 
Again  he  left  the  state,  and  during  his  absence  it  is  sup 
posed  he  was  engaged  in  nefarious  practices  with  the 
notorious  Murrel,  who  carried  rapine  and  death  into  the 
unoffending  villages  of  the  far  west.  However,  be  this  as 
it  may,  little  was  known  of  him  for  several  years,  except  in 
some  desperate  encounter.  The  next  step  in  his  career  of 
desperation  known,  was  joining  a  band  of  guerillas  led  by 
one  of  the  most  intrepid  captains  that  infested  the  borders 
of  Mexico,  during  the  internal  warfare  by  which  her  Texan 
provinces  struggled  for  independence.  Freebooters,  they 
espoused  the  Texan  cause  because  it  offered  food  for  their 
rapacity,  and  through  it  they  became  formidable  and  des 
perate  foes  to  the  enemy.  They  were  the  terror  of  the 
ranchoes,  the  inhabitants  fled  at  their  approach ;  their  pil 
lage,  rapine,  and  slaughtering,  would  stain  the  annals  of 
barbarous  Africa.  They  are  buried,  let  us  hope  for  the 
name  of  a  great  nation,  that  they  may  remain  beneath  the 
pale  of  oblivion. 

In  their  incursions,  as  mounted  riflemen,  they  besieged 
villages,  slaughtered  the  inhabitants,  plundered  churches, 
and  burned  dwellings ;  they  carried  off  captive  females, 
drove  herds  of  cattle  to  distant  markets.  Through  the 
auspices  of  this  band,  as  is  now  well  known,  many  young 
females  were  carried  off  and  sold  into  slavery,  where  they 
and  their  offspring  yet  remain.  While  pursuing  this 

*  We  withhold  the  details  of  this  too  true  transaction,  lest  we  should 
be  classed  among  those  who  are  endeavouring  to  creal  e  undue  excite 
ment.  The  orphan  girl  we  here  refer  to  was  married  to  a  respectable 
mechanic,  who  afterwards  removed  to  Cincinnati,  and  with  his  wife 
jcoame  much  rt^i'Wted  citizens. 


72  ANOTHEB  SCENE  IN  SOUTHEKN  LIFE. 

nefarious  course  of  life,  Eoinescos  accumulated  more  than 
twenty  thousand  dollars ;  and  yet, — though  ferocity  in 
creased  with  the  daring  of  his  profession,— there  was 
one  impulse  of  his  nature,  deeply  buried,  directing  his 
ambition.  Amid  the  dangers  of  war,  the  tumult  of  con 
flict,  the  passion  for  daring — this  impulse  kept  alive  the 
associations  of  home, — it  was  love !  In  early  life  he 
had  formed  an  attachment  •  for  a  beautiful  young  lady 
of  his  native  town ;  it  had  ripened  with  his  years ;  the 
thoughts  of  her,  and  the  hope  of  regaining  her  love  if 
he  gained  wealth,  so  worked  upon  his  mind  that  be  re 
solved  to  abandon  the  life  of  a  guerilla,  and  return  home. 
After  an  absence  of  fourteen  years  he  found  the  object  of 
his  early  love, — that  woman  who  had  refused  to  requite  his 
affection, —  a  widow,  having  buried  her  husband,  a  gentleman 
of  position,  some  months  previous. 

liomescos  had  money, — the  man  was  not  considered;  he  is 
not  considered  where  slavery  spreads  its  vices  to  corrupt 
social  life.  He  had  been  careful  to  keep  his  business  a  pro 
found  secret,  and  pressing  his  affections,  soon  found  the 
object  of  his  ambition  keenly  sensitive  to  his  advances. 
Rumour  recounted  his  character  with  mystery  and  suspi 
cion  ;  friends  remonstrated,  but  in  vain  ;  they  were  united 
despite  all  opposition,  all  appeals.  For  a  time  he  seemed  a 
better  man,  the  business  he  had  followed  harassed  his 
mind,  seeming  to  haunt  him,  and  poison  his  progress.  He 
purchased  a  plantation  on  the  banks  of  the  Santee  ;  for  once 
resolved  to  pursue  an  honest  course,  to  be  a  respectable 
citizen,  and  enjoy  the  quiet  of  home. 

A  year  passed :  he  might  have  enjoyed  the  felicity  of 
domestic  life,  the  affections  of  a  beautiful  bride ;  but  the 
change  was  too  sudden  for  his  restless  spirit.  He  was  not 
made  to  enjoy  the  quiet  of  life,  the  task  stood  before  him 
like  a  mountain  without  a  pass,  he  could  not  wean  himself 
from  the  vices  of  a  marauder.  He  had  abused  the  free 
offerings  of  a  free  country,  had  set  law  at  defiance  ;  he  had 
dealt  in  human  flesh,  and  the  task  of  resistance  was  more 
than  the  moral  element  in  his  nature  could  effect.  Viola 
tions  of  human  laws  were  mere  speculations  to  him ;  they 
had  beguiled  him,  body  and  soul.  He  had  no  apology  for 
violating  personal  feeling ;  what  cared  he  for  that  small 
consideration,  when  the  bodies  of  men,  women,  and  children 


ANOTHER  SCENE  IN  SOI7THEUN  LIFE.  73 

could  be  sacrificed  for  that  gold  which  would  give  him 
position  among  the  men  of  the  south.  If  he  carried  oft' 
poor  whites,  and  sold  them  into  slavery,  he  saw  110  enormity 
in  the  performance ;  the  law  invested  him  with  power 
he  made  absolute.  Society  was  chargeable  with  all  his 
wrongs,  with  all  his  crimes,  all  his  enormities.  He  had 
repeatedly  told  it  so,  pointing  for  proof  to  that  literal 
observance  of  the  rule  by  which  man  is  made  mere  merchan 
dise.  kSociety  had  continued  in  its  pedantic  folly,  disregard 
ing  legal  rights,  imposing  no  restraints  on  the  holder  of 
human  property,  violating  its  spirit  and  pride  by  neglecting 
to  enforce  the  great  principles  of  justice  whereby  we  are 
bound  to  protect  the  lives  of  those  unjustly  considered 
inferior  beings.  Thus  ends  a  sketch  of  what  Komescos 
gave  of  his  own  career. 

We  now  find  him  associated  with  the  desperadoes  of 
slave-dealing,  in  the  scene  we  have  presented.  After 
Romescos  had  related  what  he  called  the  romance  of  his 
life, — intended,  no  doubt,  to  impress  the  party  with  his 
power  and  intrepidity,  and  enable  him  to  set  a  higher  value 
upon  his  services, — he  lighted  a  pipe,  threw  his  hat  upon 
the  floor,  commenced  pacing  up  and  down  the  room,  as  if 
labouring  under  deep  excitement.  And  while  each  one 
seemed  watching  him  intently,  a  loud  knocking  was  heard 
at  the  door, — then  the  baying  of  blood-hounds,  the  yelps 
of  curs,  mingling  with  the  murmurs  of  those  poor  wretches 
confined  in  the  cells  beneath.  Then  followed  the  clanking 
of  chains,  cries,  and  wailings,  startling  and  fearful. 

Dan  Bengal  sprang  to  the  door,  as  if  conscious  of  its 
import.  A  voice  demanded  admittance  ;  and  as  the  door 
opened  Bengal  exclaimed,  "  Halloo  ! — here's  Nath  Nimrod  : 
what's  the  tune  of  the  adventure  ?  " 

A  short,  stout  man  entered,  dressed  in  a  coarse  home- 
Htpun  hunting  dress,  a  profuse  black  beard  and  moustache 
nearly  covering  his  face.  "  I  is'nt  so  bad  a  feller  a'ter  all 
— is  I  r"  he  says,  rushing  forward  into  the  centre  of  the 
room,  followed  by  four  huge  hounds.  They  were  noble 
animals,  had  more  instinctive  gentleness  than  their  masters, 
displayed  a  knowledge  of  the  importance  of  the  prize  they 
had  just  gained. 

"  Hurrah  for  Nath !  hurrah  !  hurrah  !  hurrah,  for  Nath  ! 
Tou  got  him,  Nath — did'nt  yo  ?"  resounded  from  several 


74  ANOfHElt  SCENE  IS  SOUTHERN   LIFE. 

tongues,  and  was  followed  by  a  variety  of  expressions  highly 
complimentary  to  his  efficiency. 

Bomescos,  however,  remained  silent,  pacing  the  floor 
unconcerned,  except  in  his  own  anxiety — as  if  nothing  had 
occurred  to  disturb  him.  Advancing  to  the  table,  the  new 
visitor,  his  face  glowing  with  exultation,  held  forth,  by  the 
crispy  hair,  the  blanched  and  bloody  head  of  an  unfortunate 
negro  who  had  paid  the  penalty  of  the  State's  allowance  for 
outlaws.-  "There:  beat  that,  who  can?  Four  hundred 
dollars  made  since  breakfast ;"  he  cries  out  at  the  top  of 
his  voice.  They  cast  a  measured  look  at  the  ghastly  object, 
as  if  it  were  a  precious  ornament,  much  valued  for  the  price 
it  would  bring,  according  to  law.  The  demon  expresses 
his  joy,  descants  on  his  expertness  and  skill,  holds  up  his 
prize  again,  turns  it  round,  smiles  upon  it  as  his  offering, 
then  throws  it  into  the  fire  place,  carelessly,  like  a  piece  of 
fuel.  The  dogs  spring  upon  it,  as  if  the  trophy  was  for 
their  feast ;  but  he  repulses  them ;  dogs  are  not  so  bad  after 
all— the  canine  is  often  the  better  of  the  two—  the  morsel  is 
too  precious  for  canine  dogs, — human  clogs  must  devour  it. 
"  There  is  nothing  like  a  free  country,  nothing  ;  and  good 
business,  when  it's  well  protected  by  law,"  says  Nimrod, 
seating  himself  at  the  table,  filling  a  glass,  bowing  to  his 
companions,  drinking  to  the  health  of  his  friends.  He 
imagines  himself  the  best  fellow  of  the  lot.  Taking 
Graspum  by  the  hand,  he  says,  "  there  is  a  clear  hundred 
for  you,  old  patron  !  "  pulls  an  Executive  proclamation  from 
his  pocltet,  and  points  to  where  it  sets  forth  the  amount  of 
reward  for  the  outlaw — dead  or  alive.  "  I  know'd  whar  the 
brute  had  his  hole  in  the  swamp,"  he  continues:  "and 
I  summed  up  the  resolution  to  bring  him  out.  And  then  the 
galo'  Grinral  Brinkle's,  if  I  could  pin  her,  would  be  a  clear 
fifty  more,  provided  I  could  catch  her  without  damage,  and 
twenty-five  if  the  dogs  havocked  her  shins.  There  was  no 
trouble  in  getting  the  fifty,  seeing  how  my  dogs  were 
trained  to  the  point  and  call.  Taste  or  no  taste,  they  come 
square  off  at  the  word.  To  see  the  critters  trace  a  nigger, 
you'd  think  they  had  human  in  them  ;  they  understands  it 
so !  But,  I  tell  you  what,  it's  one  thing  to  hunt  a  gal 
nigger,  and  another  to  run  down  an  outlaw  what  has  had 
two  or  three  years  in  the  swamp.  The  catching  him's  not 
much,  but  when  ye  have  to  slide  the  head  off,  all  the  pious 


ANOTHER  SCENE  IN  SOUTHERN  LIFE.  75 

in  yer  natur  comes  right  up  to  make  yer  feelings  feel 
kind  a'  softish.  However,  the  law  protects  ye,  and  the 
game  being  only  a  nigger,  different  rules  and  things  govern 
one's  feelings." 

Bengal  interrupts  by  laconically  insinuating— raising  his 
moody  face,  and  winking  at  Graspum — that  it  was  all  moon 
shine  to  talk  about  trouble  in  that  kind  of  business  ;  "  It's 
the  very  highest  of  exhilarating  sport!"  he  concludes 
emphatically. 

"Dan!"  returns  the  other,  with  a  fierce  star%,  as  he 
seizes  the  bottle  and  is  about  to  enjoy  a  glass  of  whisky 
uninvited ;  "  let  your  liquor  stop  your  mouth.  I  set  the 
whole  pack  upon  the  trail  at  daylight,  and  in  less  than  two 
hours  they  came  upon  him,  bolted  him,  and  put  him  to  the 
river.  The  leader  nabbed  him  about  half  way  across,  but 
the  chap,  instead  of  giving  in,  turned  and  fought  like  a  hero. 
Twice  I  thought  he  would  whip  the  whole  pack,  but  the 
way  they  made  the  rags  fly  warn' t  nobody's  business.  Well, 
I  just  come  up  with  him  as  he  plunged  into  the  stream, 
lifts  old  sure  mark,  as  gives  him  about  a  dozen  plugs ;  and 
then  the  old  feller  begged  just  so,  you'd  thought  he  was  a 
Christian  pleadin'  forgiveness  at  the  last  moment.  But, 
when  I  seizes  him  and  gives  him  three  or  four  levellers  with 
the  butt  of  the  rifle,  ye  never  saw  a  sarpent  plunge,  and 
struggle,  and  warp  so.  Says  I,  '  It's  no  use,  old  feller, — 
yer  might  as  well  give  her  up  ;'  and  the  way  his  eyes  popped, 
just  as  if  he  expected  I  war'nt  goin  to  finish  him.  I  tell 
ye,  boys,  it  required  some  spunk  about  then,  for  the  critter 
got  his  claws  upon  me  with  a  death  grip,  and  the  dogs 
ripped  him  like  an  old  corn  stalk,  and  would'nt  keep  off.  And 
then  there  was  no  fracturin  his  skull ;  and  seeing  how  he 
was  overpowering  me,  I  just  seizes  him  by  the  throat  and 
pops  his  head  off  quicker  than  a  Chinese  executioner.* 

"  Now,  thar'  war'nt  so  much  in  takin'  the  gal,  cos  jist 
when  she  see'd  the  dogs  comin',  the  critter  took  to  tree  and 
gin  right  up :  but  when  I  went  to  muzlin'  on  her,  so  she 
could'nt  scream,  then  she  gets  saucy ;  and  I  promised  to 
gin  her  bricks, — which,  fellers,  I  reckon  yer  must  take  a 
hand  in  so  the  brute  won't  wake  the  neighbours ;  and  I'll 
do'e  it  afore  I  sleeps,"  said  Nimrod,  getting  up  from  the 

*  The  author  has  given  the  language  of  the  slave-hunter  who  related 
tile  case  personally. 

o 


76  ANOTHEB,  SCENE  IN  SOUTHERN  LIFE; 

table  and  playfully  touching  Bomescos  upon  the  arm.  "  I 
see  ye  ain't  brightened  to-day — Graspum's  share  don't 
seem  to  suit  yer,  old  feller  ;  ah !  ah ! !  "  he  continued. 

"  Just  put  another  ten  per  cent,  upon  the  out-lining,  and 
running  free  'uns,  and  I'll  stand  flint,"  said  Bomsscos, 
seeming  to  be  acted  upon  by  a  sudden  change  of  feelings,  as 
he  turned  to  Graspuin,  with  a  look  of  anxiety. 

"  Very  well,"  returned  Graspum.  "  Ter  see,  there's 
that  iMkrston  aftair  to  be  brought  to  a  point ;  and  his  affairs 
are  ju*  in  such  a  fix  that  he  don't  know  what's  what,  nor 
who's  who.  Ther'll  have  to  be  some  tall  swearing  done 
in  that  case  afore  it's  brought  to  the  hammer.  That  cunning 
of  yours,  Bomescos,  will  just  come  into  play  iu  this  case. 
It'll  be  just  the  thing  to  do  the  crooked  and  get  round  the 
legal  points."  Thus  Graspum,  with  the  dignity  and  assur 
ance  of  a  gentleman,  gave  his  opinion,  drank  with  his  com 
panions,  and  withdrew  for  the  night. 

Bomescos,  Bengal,  and  Nimrod,  soon  after  descended 
into  the  vaults  below,  followed  by  a  negro  bearing  a  lantern. 
Here  they  unbolted  one  of  the  cells,  dragged  forth  a 
dejected-looking  mulatto  woman,  her  rags  scarcely  covering 
her  nakedness.  The  poor  wretch,  a  child  born  to  degrada 
tion  and  torture,  whose  cries  were  heard  in  heaven,  heaved 
a  deep  sigh,  then  gave  vent  to  a  flood  of  tears.  They  told 
how  deep  was  her  anguish,  how  she  struggled  against  in 
justice,  how  sorrow  was  burning  her  very  soul.  The  out 
pourings  of  her  feelings  might  have  aroused  the  sympathies 
of  savage  hearts ;  but  the  slave  monsters  were  unmoved. 
Humbleness,  despair,  and  even  death,  sat  upon  her  very 
countenance ;  hope  had  fled  her,  left  her  a  wreck  for  whom 
man  had  no  pity.  And  though  her  prayers  ascended  to 
heaven,  the  God  of  mercy  seemed  to  have  abandoned  her 
to  her  tormentors.  She  came  forward  trembling  and  re 
luctantly,  her  countenance  changed ;  she  gave  a  frowning 
look  at  her  tormentors,  wild  and  gloomy,  shrank  back  into 
the  cell,  the  folds  of  straight,  black  hair  hanging  about  her 
shoulders. 

"  Come  out  here  ! "  Nimrod  commands  in  an  angry  tone  ; 
then,  seizing  her  by  the  arm,  dragged  her  forth,  and  jerked  her 
prostrate  on  the  ground.  Here,  like  as  many  fiends  in 
human  form,  the  rest  fell  upon  her,  held  her  flat  to  the  floor 
by  the  hands  and  feet,  her  face  downwards,  while  Nimrod, 


ANOTHER  SCENE  IN  SOUTHERN  LIFE.  77 

with  a  raw  hide,  inflicted  thirty  lashes  on  her  bare  back. 
Her  cries  and  groans,  as  she  lay  writhing,  the  flesh  hanging 
in  quivering  shreds,  and  lifting  with  the  lash, — her  appeals 
for  mercy,  her  prayers  to  heaven,  her  fainting  moans  as  the 
agony  of  her  torture  stung  into  her  very  soul,  would  have 
touched  a  heart  of  stone.  But,  though  her  skin  had  not 
defiled  her  in  the  eyes  of  the  righteous,  there  was  none  to 
take  pity  on  her,  nor  to  break  the  galling  chains  ;  no  !  the 
punishment  was  inflicted  with  the  measured  coolness  of 
men  engaged  in  an  every-day  vocation.  It  was  simply  the 
right  which  a  democratic  law  gave  men  to  become  lawless, 
fierce  in  the  conspiracy  of  wrong,  and  where  the  legal  ex 
citement  of  trafficking  in  the  flesh  and  blood  of  one  another 
sinks  them  unconsciously  into  demons. 


CHAPTEE  VII. 

"  BTTCKEA-MAN  TEET  UNCERTAIN." 

THE  caption,  a  commou  saying  among  negroes  at  the 
south,  had  its  origin  in  a  consciousness,  on  the  part  of  the 
negro,  of  the  many  liabilities  to  which  his  master's  affairs 
are  subject,  and  his  own  dependence  on  the  ulterior  con 
sequences.  It  carries  with  it  a  deep  significance,  opens  a 
field  for  reflection,  comprehends  the  negro's  knowledge  01 
his  own  uncertain  state,  his  being  a  piece  of  property  the 
good  or  evil  of  which  is  effected  by  his  master's  caprices,  the 
binding  force  of  the  law  that  makes  him  merchandise. 
Nevertheless,  while  the  negro  feels  them  in  all  their  force, 
the  master  values  them  only  in  an  abstract  light.  Ask  the 
negro  whose  master  is  kind  to  him,  if  he  would  prefer  his 
freedom  and  go  north  ? — At  first  he  will  hesitate,  dilate  upon 
his  master's  goodness,  his  affection  for  him,  the  kindly  feeling 
evinced  for  him  by  the  family —  they  often  look  upon  him 
with  a  patriarchal  tenderness  — and,  finally,  he  will  conclude 
by  telling  you  he  wishes  master  and  missus  would  live  for 
ever.  He  tells  you,  in  the  very  simplicity  of  his  nature, 
that  "Eve'  ting  so  unsartin!  and  mas'r  don't  know  if  he 
die  when  he  gwine  to."  That  when  he  is  dying  he  does  not 
realise  it ;  and  though  his  intention  be  good,  death  may  blot 
out  his  desires,  and  he,  the  dependent,  being  only  a  chattel, 
must  sink  into  the  uncertain  stream  of  slave-life.  Marston's 
plantation  might  have  been  taken  as  an  illustration  of  the 
truth  of  this  saying.  Long  had  it  been  considered  one  of 
eminent  profit ;  his  field  slaves  were  well  cared  for ;  his 
favourite  house  servants  had  every  reasonable  indulgence 
granted  them.  And,  too,  Marston's  mansion  was  the 
pleasant  retreat  of  many  a  neighbour,  whose  visits  were 
welcomed  by  the  kindly  attention  he  had  taught  his  do 
mestics  to  bestow.  Marston's  fault  lay  in  his  belonging  to 
that  class  of  planters  who  repose  too  much  confidence  in 
others. 

The    morning    following   Lorenzo's   departure    ushered 


BUCKET-MAN  VEEY  UNCERTAIN.  79 

forth  bright  and  balmy.  A  quiet  aspect  reigned  in  and 
about  the  plantation,  servants  moved  sluggishly  about, 
the  incidents  of  the  preceding  night  oppressed  Marston's 
mind  ;  his  feelings  broke  beyond  his  power  of  restraint. 
Like  contagion,  the  effect  seized  each  member  of  his  house 
hold, — forcibly  it  spoke  in  word  and  action  !  Marston  had 
bestowed  much  care  upon  Lorenzo  and  Franconia;  he  had 
indulged  and  idolised  the  latter,  and  given  the  former  some 
good  advice.  But  advice  without  example  seldom  produces 
lasting  good ;  in  truth,  precept  had  the  very  worst  effect 
upon  Lorenzo, — it  had  proved  his  ruin !  His  singular  and 
mysterious  departure  might  for  a  time  be  excused, — even 
accounted  for  in  some  plausible  manner,  but  suspicion  was 
a  stealing  monster  that  would  play  upon  the  deeply  tinc 
tured  surface,  and  soar  above  in  disgrace.  That  the  Rovero 
family  were  among  the  first  of  the  State  would  not  be  re 
ceived  as  a  palliation  ;  they  had  suffered  reverses  of  fortune, 
and,  with  the  addition  of  Lorenzo's  profligacy,  which  had 
been  secretly  drawing  upon  their  resources,  were  themselves 
well  nigh  in  discredit.  And  now  that  this  sudden  and 
unexpected  reverse  had  befallen  Marston,  he  could  do 
nothing  for  their  relief.  Involved,  perplexed,  and  distrusted 
— with  ever- slaying  suspicion  staring  him  in  the  face — he 
was  a  victim  pursued  by  one  who  never  failed  to  lay  low 
his  object.  That  man  moved  with  unerring  method,  could 
look  around  him  upon  the  destitution  made  by  his  avarice, 
without  evincing  a  shadow  of  sympathy.  Yes !  he  was  in 
the  grasp  of  a  living  Shylock,  whose  soul,  worn  out  in  the 
love  of  gold,  had  forgotten  that  there  existed  a  distinction 
between  right  and  wrong. 

Surrounded  by  all  these  dark  forebodings,  Marston 
begins  to  reflect  on  his  past  life.  He  sees  that  mercy  which 
overlooks  the  sins  of  man  when  repentance  is  pure ;  but  his 
life  is  full  of  moral  blemishes ;  he  has  sinned  against  the 
innocent,  against  the  God  of  forgiveness.  The  inert  of  his 
nature  is  unfolding  itself, — he  has  lived  according  to  the 
tolerated  vices  of  society — he  has  done  no  more  than  the 
law  gave  him  a  right  to  do !  And  yet,  that  very  society, 
overlooking  its  own  wrongs,  would  now  strip  him  of  its 
associations.  He  lives  in  a  State  where  it  is  difficult  to  tell 
what  society  will  approve  or  reprobate ;  where  a  rich  man 
may  do  with  impunity  what  would  consign  a  poor  man  to 


80  BtTCKRA-MAN  VERY  UNCERTAIN. 

the  gallows.*  The  creatures  whom  he  had  made  mere 
objects  to  serve  his  sensuality  were  before  him ;  he  traced 
the  gloomy  history  of  their  unfortunate  sires ;  he  knew  that 
Ellen  and  Clotilda  were  born  free.  The  cordon  that  had 
bound  his  feelings  to  the  system  of  slavery  relaxed.  For 
the  first  time,  he  saw  that  which  he  could  not  recognise  in 
his  better  nature — himself  the  medium  of  keeping  human 
beings  in  slavery  who  were  the  rightful  heirs  of  freedom. 
The  blackness  of  the  crime — its  cruelty,  its  injustice — 
haunted  him ;  they  were  at  that  very  moment  held  by 
Graspum's  caprice.  He  might  doom  the  poor  wretches  to 
irretrievable  slavery,  to  torture  and  death !  Then  his  mind 
wandered  to  Annette  and  Nicholas ;  he  saw  them  of  his 
own  flesh  and  blood  ;  his  natural  affections  bounded  forth  ; 
how  could  he  disown  them  ?  The  creations  of  love  and 
right  were  upon  him,  misfortune  had  unbound  his  sensa 
tions  ;  his  own  offspring  stood  before  him  clothed  in  trouble 
thick  and  dangerous.  His  follies  have  entailed  a  life-rent 
of  misery  upon  others  ;  the  fathomless  depth  of  the  future 
opens  its  yawning  jaws  to  swallow  up  those  upon  whom  the 
fondness  of  a  father  should  have  been  bestowed  for  their 
moral  and  physical  good. 

As  he  sits  contemplating  this  painful  picture,  Auut 
Hachel  enters  the  room  to  inquire  if  Lorenzo  breakfasts 
with  them.  "  "Why !  old  mas'r,  what  ail  ye  dis  moruin'  ? 
Ye  don't  seems  nohow.  Not  a  stripe  like  what  ye  was 
yesterday ;  somethin'  gi  'h  de  wrong  way,  and  mas'r  done 
know  what  i'  is,"  she  mutters  to  herself,  looking  seriously 
at  Marston. 

"  Nothing !  old  bustler ;  nothing  that  concerns  you.  Do 
not  mention  Lorenzo's  name  again ;  he  has  gone  on  a 
journey.  Send  my  old  faithful  Daddy  Bob  to  me."  Kaehel 
hastened  to  fulfil  the  command;  soon  brought  the  old  servant 
to  the  door.  His  countenance  lighted  up  with  smiles  as  he 
stood  at  the  doorway,  bowing  and  scraping,  working  his  red 

*  If  we  examine  the  many  rencontres  that  take  place  in  the  south, 
especially  those  proving  fatal,  we  will  find  that  the  perpetrator,  if  he  be 
a  rich  man,  invariably  receives  an  "  honourable  acquittal."  Again,  when 
the  man  of  position  shoots  down  his  victim  in  the  streets  of  a  city,  he 
is  esteemed  brave  ;  but  a  singular  reversion  takes  place  if  the  rencontir 
bo  between  poor  men.  It  is  then  a  diabolical  act,  a  murder,  wbicl" 
nothing  short  of  the  gallows  can  serve  for  punishment. 


BUOKRA-MAN  VERY  UNCERTAIN.  81 

cap  in  his  hand.     There  stood  the  old  man,  a  picture  of 
attachment. 

"  Come  in,  Bob,  come  in !"  Marston  says,  motioning  his 
hand,  "  I  wish  the  world  was  as  faithful  as  you  are.  You 
are  worthy  the  indulgence  I  have  bestowed  upon  you ;  let 
me  hope  there  is  something  better  in  prospect  for  you. 
My  life  reproves  me ;  and  when  I  turn  and  review  its 
crooked  path — when  I  behold  each  inconsistency  chiding 
me — I  lament  what  I  cannot  recall."  Taking  the  old  man 
by  the  hand,  the  tears  glistening  in  his  eyes,  he  looks  upon 
him  as  a  father  would  his  child. 

"  In  a  short  time,  Bob,  you  shall  be  free  to  go  where  you 
please,  on  the  plantation  or  off  it.  But  remember,  Bob, 
yon  are  old — you  have  grown  grey  in  faithfulness, — the 
good  southerner  is  the  true  friend  of  the  negro !  I  mean  he 
is  the  true  friend  of  the  negro,  because  he  has  associated 
with  him  from  childhood,  assimilated  with  his  feelings, 
made  his  nature  a  study.  He  welcomes  him  without  reserve, 
approaches  him  without  that  sensitiveness  and  prejudice 
which  the  northerner  too  often  manifests  towards  him.  You 
shall  be  free,  Bob !  you  shall  be  free ! — free  to  go  where  you 
please;  but  you  must  remain  among  southerners,  southerners 
are  your  friends." 

"Yes,  mas'r,  'im  all  just  so  good,  if  t'warn't  dat  I  so  old. 
Free  nigger,  when  'e  old,  don't  gwane  to  get  along  much. 
Old  Bob  tink  on  dat  mighty  much,  he  do  dat !  Lef  Bob 
free  win  'e  young,  den  'e  get  tru'  de  world  like  Buckra, 
only  lef  'im  de  chance  what  Buckra  hab.  Freedom  ain't 
wof'  much  ven  old  Bob  worn  out,  mas'r ;  and  Buckra  what 
sell  nigger, — what  make  'e  trade  on  him,  run  'im  off  sartin. 
He  sell  old  nigger  what  got  five  dollar  wof  a  work  in  'e 
old  bones.  Mas'r  set  'urn  free,  bad  Buckra  catch  'um,  old 
Bob  get  used  up  afo'  he  know  nofin,"  quaintly  replied  the 
old  man,  seeming  to  have  an  instinctive  knowledge  of  the 
"  nigger  trade,"  but  with  so  much  attachment  for  his  master 
that  he  could  not  be  induced  to  accept  his  freedom. 

"  It's  not  the  leaving  me,  Bob  ;  you  may  be  taken  from 
me.  You  are  worth  but  little,  'tis  true,  and  yet  you  may 
be  sold  from  me  to  a  bad  master.  If  the  slave-dealers  run 
you  off,  you  can  let  me  know,  and  I  will  prosecute  them," 
returned  Marston. 

"  Ah  !  mas'r ;  dat's  just  whar  de  blunt  is — in  de  unsar- 

a 


82  BUCKRA-HAN  VERY  UNCERTAIN. 

tainty !  How  I  gwane  to  let  mas'r  know,  when  mas'r  no 
larn  Bigger  to  read,"  he  quickly  responded.  There  is 
something  in  his  simple  remark  that  Marston  has  never 
before  condescended  to  contemplate, — something  the  simple 
nature  of  the  negro  has  just  disclosed  ;  it  lies  deeply  rooted 
at  the  foundation  of  all  the  wrongs  of  slavery.  Education 
would  be  valuable  to  the  negro,  especially  in  his  old  age  ;  it 
would  soften  his  impulses  rather  than  impair  his  attach 
ment,  unless  the  master  be  a  tyrant  fearing  the  results  of 
his  own  oppression.  Marston,  a  good  master,  had  deprived 
the  old  man  of  the  means  of  protecting  himself  against  the 
avarice  of  those  who  would  snatch  him  from  freedom,  and 
while  his  flesh  and  blood  contained  dollars  and  cents,  sell 
him  into  slavery.  Freedom,  under  the  best  circumstances, 
could  do  him  little  good  in  his  old  age ;  and  yet,  a  know 
ledge  of  the  wrong  rankled  deep  in  Marston' s  feelings  :  he 
could  relieve  it  only  by  giving  Daddy  Bob  and  Harry  their 
freedom  if  they  would  accept  it. 

Relinquishing  Daddy's  hand,  he  commanded  him  to  go 
and  bring  him  Annette  and  Nicholas.  "  Bring  them,"  he 
says,  "without  the  knowledge  of  their  mothers."  Bob 
withdrew,  hastened  to  the  cabins  in  the  yard  to  fulfil  the 
mission.  Poor  things,  thought  Marston ;  they  are  mine,  how 
can  I  disown  them  ?  Ah,  there's  the  point  to  conquer — I 
cannot !  It  is  like  the  mad  torrents  of  hell,  stretched  out 
before  me  to  consume  my  very  soul,  to  bid  me  defiance.  Mis 
fortune  is  truly  a  great  purifier,  a  great  regenerator  of  our 
moral  being ;  but  how  can  I  make  the  wrong  right  ? — how 
can  I  live  to  hope  for  something  beyond  the  caprice  of  this 
alluring  world  ?  My  frailties  have  stamped  their  future 
with  shame. 

Thus  he  mused  as  the  children  came  scampering  into  the 
room.  Annette,  her  flaxen  curls  dangling  about  her  neck, 
looking  as  tidy  and  bright  as  the  skill  of  Clotilda  could 
make  her,  runs  to  Marston,  throws  herself  on  his  knee, 
fondles  about  his  bosom,  kisses  his  hand  again  and  again. 
She  loves  him, — she  knows  no  other  father.  Nicholas,  more 
shy,  moves  slowly  behind  a  chair,  his  fingers  in  his  mouth 
the  while.  Looking  through  its  rounds  wistfully,  he  shakes 
his  head  enviously,  moves  the  chair  backwards  and  for 
wards,  and  is  too  bashful  to  approach  Annette's  position. 

Marston  has  taken  Annette  in  his  arms,  he  caresses  her; 


BUCKRA-MAN  VERY  UNCERTAIN.  83 

she  twirls  her  tiny  fingers  through  his  whiskers,  as  if  to 
play  with  him  in  the  toying  recognition  of  a  father.  He  is 
deeply  immersed  in  thought,  smooths  her  hair,  walks  to  the 
glass  with  her  in  his  arms,  holds  her  before  it  as  if  to  detect 
his  own  features  in  the  countenance  of  the  child.  Resuming 
his  seat,  he  sets  her  on  one  knee,  calls  Nicholas  to  him, 
takes  him  on  the  other,  and  fondles  them  with  an  air  of 
kindness  it  had  never  before  been  their  good  fortune  to 
receive  at  his  hands.  He  looked  upon  them  again,  and 
again  caressed  them,  parted  their  hair  with  his  fingers. 
And  as  Annette  would  open  her  eyes*  and  gaze  in  his,  with 
an  air  of  sweetest  acknowledgment,  his  thoughts  seemed 
contending  with  something  fearful.  He  was  in  trouble  ;  he 
saw  the  enemy  brooding  over  the  future  ;  he  heaved  a  sigh, 
a  convulsive  motion  followed,  a  tear  stealing  down  his  cheek 
told  the  tale  of  his  reflections. 

"Now,  Daddy;"  he  speaks,  directing  himself  to  old 
Bob,  who  stands  at  the  door  surprised  at  Marston's  singular 
movements,  "  you  are  my  confidant,  what  do  you  think  the 
world — I  mean  the  people  about  the  district,  about  the  city 
— would  say  if  they  knew  these  were  mine  ?  You  know, 
Bob, — you  must  tell  me  straight  out,  do  they  look  like  me  ? 
— have  they  features  like  mine?"  he  inquires  with  rapid 
utterance. 

"  Mas'r,  Bob  don'  like  to  say  all  he  feels,"  meekly  mut 
tered  the  old  man. 

"  There  is  the  spot  on  which  we  lay  the  most  unholy 
blot ;  and  yet,  it  recoils  upon  us  when  we  least  think.  Un 
fortunate  wretches  bear  them  unto  us ;  yet  we  dare  not 
make  them  our  own ;  we  blast  their  lives  for  selfish  ends, 
yield  them  to  others,  shield  ourselves  by  a  misnomer  called 
right !  We  sell  the  most  interesting  beings  for  a  price, — 
beings  that  should  be  nearest  and  dearest  to  our 
hearts," 

The  old  slave's  eyes  glistened  with  excitement ;  he  looked 
on  astonished,  as  if  some  extraordinary  scene  had  surprised 
him.  As  his  agitation  subsided,  he  continued,  "  Mas'r,  I 
bin  watch  'im  dis  long  time.  Beckon  how  nobody  wouldn't 
take  'em  fo'h  nobody  else's— fo'h  true !  Dar  ain't  no 
spozin'  boufe  'em,  'e  so  right  smart  twarn't  no  use  to  guise 
'em :  da'h  just  like  old  Boss.  Mas'r,  nigger  watch  dem 


84  BUCKRA-MAN  VERY  UNCERTAIN. 

tings  mighty  close ;  more  close  den  Buckra,  cos'  Buckra 
tink  'e  all  right  when  nigger  tink  'e  all  wrong." 

Marston  is  not  quite  content  with  this  :  he  must  needs 
put  another  question  to  the  old  man.  "  Tou  are  sure  there 
can  be  no  mistaking  them  for  mine? "  he  rejoins,  fixing  his 
eyes  upon  the  children  with  an  almost  death-like  stare,  as 
Daddy  leads  them  out  of  the  room.  The  door  closes  after 
them,  he  paces  the  room  for  a  time,  seats  himself  in  his 
chair  again,  and  is  soon  absorbed  in  contemplation.  "  I 
must  do  something  for  them — I  must  snatch  them  from  the 
jaws  of  danger.  They  are  full  of  interest — they  are  mine ; 
there  is  not  a  drop  of  negro  blood  in  their  veins,  and  yet 
the  world  asks  who  are  their  mothers,  what  is  their  history  ? 
Ah  !  yes  ;  in  that  history  lies  the  canker  that  has  eaten  out 
the  living  springs  of  many  lives.  It  is  that  which  cuts 
deepest.  Had  I  known  myself,  done  what  I  might  have 
done  before  it  was  too  late,  kindness  would  have  its  rewards  ; 
but  I  am  fettered,  and  the  more  I  move  the  worse  for  them. 
Custom  has  laid  the  foundation  of  wrong,  the  law  protects 
it,  and  a  free  government  tolerates  a  law  that  shields 
iniquities  blackening  earth."  In  this  train  of  thought  his 
mind  wandered.  He  would  send  the  children  into  a  free 
state,  there  to  be  educated ;  that  they  may  live  in  the  en 
joyment  of  those  rights  with  which  nature  had  blest  them. 
The  obstacles  of  the  law  again  stared  him  in  the  .face  ;  the 
wrong  by  which  they  were  first  enslaved,  now  forgotten,  hud 
brought  its  climax. 

Suddenly  arousing  from  his  reverie,  he  started  to  his  feet, 
and  walking  across  the  floor,  exclaimed  in  an  audible  voice, 
"  I  will  surmount  all  difficulties, — I  will  recognise  them  as 
my  children;  I  will  send  them  where  they  may  become 
ornaments  of  society,  instead  of  living  in  shame  and  licen 
tiousness.  This  is  my  resolve,  and  I  will  carry  it  out,  or 
die  I" 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

A.  CLOUD  OF  MISFORTUNE  HANGS  OVER  THE  PLANTATION. 

THE  document  Marston  signed  for  Lorenzo— to  release  him 
from  the  difficulties  into  which  he  had  been  drawn  by 
G-raspum— guaranteed  the  holder  against  all  loss.  This,  in 
the  absence  of  Lorenzo,  and  under  such  strange  circum 
stances,  implied  an  amount  which  might  be  increased 
according  to  the  will  of  the  man  into  whose  hands  he  had  so 
unfortunately  fallen. 

Nearly  twelve  months  had  now  elapsed  since  the  dis 
closure  of  the  crime.  Maxwell,  our  young  Englishman,  had 
spent  the  time  among  the  neighbouring  plantations ;  and 
failing  to  enlist  more  than  friendly  considerations  from 
Franconia,  resolved  to  return  to  Bermuda  and  join  his 
family.  He  had,  however,  taken  a  deep  interest  in  Clotilda 
and  Annette, — had  gone  to  their  apartment  unobserved,  and 
in  secret  interviews  listened  to  Clotilda's  tale  of  trouble. 
Its  recital  enlisted  his  sympathies  ;  and  being  of  an  ardent 
and  impressible  temper,  he  determined  to  carry  out  a  design 
for  her  relief.  He  realised  her  silent  suffering, — saw  how 
her  degraded  condition  wrangled  with  her  noble  feelings, — 
how  the  true  character  of  a  woman  loathed  at  being  the 
slave  of  one  who  claimed  her  as  his  property.  And  this,  too, 
without  the  hope  of  redeeming  herself,  except  by  some 
desperate  effort.  And,  too,  he  saw  but  little  difference 
between  the  blood  of  Franconia  and  the  blood  of  Clotilda  ; 
the  same  outline  of  person  was  there, — her  delicate  counte- 
nunce,  finely  moulded  bust,  smoothly  converging  shoulders. 
There  was  the  same  Grecian  cast  of  face,  the  same  soft, 
reflective  eyes, — filling  a  smile  with  sweetness,  and  again 
with  deep-felt  sorrow.  The  same  sensitive  nature,  ready  to 
yield  forth  love  and  tenderness,  or  to  press  onward  the 
more  impassioned  affections,  was  visible  in  both.  And  yet, 
what  art  had  done  for  Pranconia  nature  had  replenished  for 
Clotilda.  But,  the  servile  hand  was  upon  her,  she  crouched 


86  A  CLOUD  OF  MISFORTUNE 

beneath  its  grasp  ;  it  branded  her  life,  and  that  of  her  child, 
with  ignominy  and  death. 

During  these  interviews  he  would  watch  her  emotions  as 
she  looked  upon  her  child;  when  she  would  clasp  it  to 
her  bosom,  weeping,  until  from  the  slightest  emotion  her 
feelings  would  become  frantic  with  anguish. 

"  And  you,  my  child,  a  mother's  hope  when  all  other 
pleasures  are  gone!  Are  you  some  day  to  be  torn  from 
me,  and,  like  myself,  sent  to  writhe  under  the  coarse  hand 
of  a  slave-dealer,  to  be  stung  with  shame  enforced  while 
asking  God's  forgiveness?  Sometimes  I  think  it  cannot  be 
so ;  I  think  it  must  all  be  a  dream.  But  it  is  so,  and  we 
might  as  well  submit,  say  as  little  of  the  hardship  as  pos 
sible,  and  think  it's  all  as  they  tell  us — according  to  Grod'a 
will,"  she  would  say,  pressing  the  child  closer  and  closer  to 
her  bosom,  the  agitation  of  her  feelings  rising  into  convul 
sions  as  the  tears  coursed  down  her  cheeks.  Then  she 
would  roll  her  soft  eyes  upwards,  her  countenance  filling 
with  despair.  The  preservation  of  her  child  was  pictured 
in  the  depth  of  her  imploring  look.  For  a  time  her 
emotions  would  recede  into  quiet, — she  would  smile  placidly 
upon  Annette,  forget  the  realities  that  had  just  swept  her 
mind  into  such  a  train  of  trouble. 

One  night,  as  Maxwell  entered  her  apartment,  he  found 
her  kneeling  at  her  bed-side,  supplicating  in  prayer.  The 
word,  "  Oh,  Grod  ;  not  me,  but  my  child — guide  her  through 
the  perils  that  are  before  her,  and  receive  her  into  heaven 
at  last,"  fell  upon  his  ear.  He  paused,  gazed  upon  her  as 
if  some  angel  spirit  had  touched  the  teuderest  chord  of  his 
feelings — listened  unmoved.  A  lovely  woman,  an  affec 
tionate  mother,  the  offspring  of  a  noble  race, — herself 
forced  by  relentless  injustice  to  become  an  instrument  of 
licentiousness — stood  before  him  in  all  that  can  make 
woman  an  ornament  to  her  sex.  What  to  Ellen  Juvarna 
seemed  the  happiness  of  her  lot,  was  pain  and  remorse  to 
Clotilda ;  and  when  she  arose  there  was  a  nervousness,  a 
shrinking  in  her  manner,  betokening  apprehension.  "  It  is 
not  now  ;  it  is  hereafter.  And  yet  there  is  no  glimmer  of 
hope !"  she  whispers,  as  she  seata  herself  in  a  chair,  pulls 
the  little  curtain  around  the  bed,  and  prepares  to  retire. 

The  scene  so  worked  upon  Maxwell's  feelings  that  he 
could  withstand  the  effect  no  longer ;  he  approached  her, 


HANGS  OVER  THE  PLANTATION.  87 

held  out  his  hand,  greeted  her  with  a  smile :  "  Clotilda,  I 
am  your  friend,"  he  whispers,  "  come,  sit  down  and  tell  me 
what  troubles  you !" 

"  If  what  I  say  be  told  in  confidence  ?"  she  replied,  as  if 
questioning  his  advance. 

"  You  may  trust  me  with  any  secret ;  I  am  ready  to 
serve  you,  if  it  be  with  my  life  !" 

Clasping  her  arms  round  her  child,  again  she  wept  in 
silence.  The  moment  was  propitious — the  summer  sun  had 
just  set  beneath  dark  foliage  in  the  west,  its  refulgent 
curtains  now  fading  into  mellow  tints ;  night  was  closing 
rapidly  over  the  scene,  the  serene  moon  shone  softly  through 
the  arbour  into  the  little  window  at  her  bedside.  Again 
she  took  him  by  the  hand,  invited  him  to  sit  down  at  her 
side,  and,  looking  imploringly  in  his  face,  continued, — "  If 
you  are  a  friend,  you  can  be  a  friend  in  confidence,  in  pur 
pose.  I  am  a  slave !  yes,  a  slave ;  there  is  much  in  the 
word,  more  than  most  men  are  disposed  to  analyse.  It 
may  seem  simple  to  you,  but  follow  it  to  its  degraded 
depths — follow  it  to  where  it  sows  the  seedd  of  sorrow,  and 
there  you  will  find  it  spreading  poison  and  death,  uprooting 
all  that  is  good  in  nature.  Worse  than  that,  my  child  is  a 
slave  too.  It  is  that  which  makes  the  wrong  more  cruel, 
that  mantles  the  polished  vice,  that  holds  us  in  that  fearful 
grasp  by  which  we  dare  not  seek  our  rights. 

"  My  mother,  ah !  yes,  my  mother— Clotilda  shakes  her 
head  in  sorrow.  How  strange  that,  by  her  misfortune,  all, 
all,  is  misfortune  for  ever !  from  one  generation  to  another, 
sinking  each  life  down,  down,  down,  into  misery  and  woe. 
How  oft  she  clasped  my  hand  and  whispered  in  my  ear : 
'  If  we  could  but  have  our  rights.'  And  she,  my  mother, 
—as  by  that  sacred  name  I  called  her — was  fair ;  fairer 
than  those  who  held  her  for  a  hideous  purpose,  made  her 
existence  loathsome  to  herself,  who  knew  the  right  but  forced 
the  wrong.  She  once  had  rights,  but  was  stripped  of  them  j 
and  once  in  slavery  who  can  ask  that  right  be-  done  ?" 

"  What  rights  have  you  beyond  these?"  he  interrupted, 
suddenly.  "  There  is  mystery  in  what  you  have  said,  in 
what  I  have  seen ;  something  I  want  to  solve.  The  same 
ardent  devotion,  tenderness,  aifection, — the  same  touching 
chasteness,  that  characterises  Franconia,  assimilates  in  you. 
You  are  a  slave,  a  menial — she  is  courted  and  caressed  by 


88  A  CLOUD  OF  MISFORTUNE 

persons  of  rank  and  station.  Heavens  !  here  is  the  curse 
confounding  the  flesh  and  blood  of  those  in  high  places, 
making  slaves  of  their  own  kinsmen,  crushing  out  the  spirit 
of  life,  rearing  up  those  broken  flowers  whose  heads  droop 
with  shame.  And  you  want  your  freedom  ?" 

"  For  my  child  first,  she  replied,  quickly :  "  I  rest  my 
hopes  of  her  in  the  future." 

Maxwell  hesitated  for  a  moment,  as  if  contemplating 
some  plan  for  her  escape,  ran  his  fingers  through  his  hair 
again  and  again,  then  rested  his  forehead  in  his  hand,  as 
the  perspiration  stood  in  heavy  drops  upon  it.  'TVIy  child  !" 
There  was  something  inexpressibly  touching  in  the  words 
of  a  mother  ready  to  sacrifice  her  own  happiness  for  the 
freedom  of  her  child.  And  yet  an  awful  responsibility  hung 
over  him  ;  should  he  attempt  to  gain  their  freedom,  and  fail 
in  carrying  out  the  project,  notwithstanding  he  was  in  a 
free  country,  the  act  might  cost  him  his  life.  But  there 
was  the  mother,  her  pride  beaming  forth  in  every  action,  a 
wounded  spirit  stung  with  the  knowledge  of  being  a  slave, 
the  remorse  of  her  suffering  soul — the  vicissitudes  of  that 
sin  thus  forced  upon  her.  The  temptation  became  irresis 
tible. 

"  You  are  English  ! " — northerners  and  Englishmen  know 
what  liberty  is.*  Northerners  could  do  great  things  for  us, 
if  they  would  but  know  us  as  we  are,  study  our  feelings, 
cast  aside  selfish  motives,and  sustain  our  rights  !"  Clotilda 
now  commenced  giving  Maxwell  a  history  of  her  mother, — 
which,  however,  we  must  reserve  for  another  chapter. 
"And  my  mother  gave  me  this  !"  she  said,  drawing  from 
her  pocket  a  paper  written  over  in  Greek  characters,  but  so 
defaced  as  to  be  almost  unintelligible.  "  Some  day  you 
will  find  a  friend  who  will  secure  your  freedom  through 
that,"  she  would  say.  "  But  freedom — that  which  is  such 
a  boon  to  us — is  so  much  feared  by  others  that  you  must 
mark  that  friend  cautiously,  know  him  well,  and  be  sure  he 
will  not  betray  the  liberty  you  attempt  to  gain."  And  she 
handed  him  the  defaced  paper,  telling  him  to  put  it  in  his 
pocket. 

*  Negroes  at  the  South  have  a  very  high  opinion  of  Northern  clever 
ness  in  devising  means  of  procuring  their  liberty.  The  Author  here 
uses  the  language  employed  by  a  slave  girl  who  frequently  implored  aid 
to  devise  some  plan  by  which  she  would  be  enabled  to  make  her  escape. 


HANGS  OVER  THE  PLANTATION.  89 

"  And  where  is  your  mother  ?" 

"  There  would  be  a  store  of  balm  in  that,  if  I  did  but 
know.  Her  beauty  doomed  her  to  a  creature  life,  which, 
when  she  had  worn  out,  she  was  sold,  as  I  may  be,  God 
knows  how  soon.  Though  far  away  from  me,  she  is  my 
mother  still,  in  all  that  recollection  can  make  her;  her 
countenance  seems  like  a  wreath  decorating  our  past  asso 
ciations.  Shrink  not  when  I  tell  it,  for  few  shrink  at  such 
things  now, — I  saw  her  chained  ;  I  didn't  think  much  of  it 
then,  for  I  was  too  young.  And  she  took  me  in  her  arms 
and  kissed  me,  the  tears  rolled  down  her  cheeks  ;  and  she 
said — '  Clotilda,  Clotilda,  farewell !  There  is  a  world  beyond 
this,  a  Grod  who  knows  our  hearts,  who  records  our 
sorrows ; '  and  her  image  impressed  me  with  feelings  I 
cannot  banish.  To  look  back  upon  it  seems  like  a  rough 
pilgrimage ;  and  then  when  I  think  of  seeing  her  again  my 
mind  gets  lost  in  hopeless  expectations" — 

"  You  saw  her  chained  ?"  interrupted  Maxwell. 

"  Tes,  even  chained  with  strong  irons.  It  need  not  sur 
prise  you.  Slavery  is  a  crime ;  and  they  chain  the  inno 
cent  lest  the  wrong  should  break  forth  upon  themselves." 
And  she  raised  her  hands  to  her  face,  shook  her  head, 
and  laid  Annette  in  the  little  bed  at  the  foot  of  her 
own. 

"What  is  it  that  in  chaining  a  woman,  whether  she  be 
black  as  ebony  or  white  as  snow,  degrades  all  the  traits 
of  the  southerner's  character,  which  he  would  have  the 
world  think  noble  ?  It  is  fear !  The  monster  which  the 
southerner  sees  by  day,  tolerates  in  his  silence,  protects  as 
part  and  parcel  of  a  legal  trade,  only  clothes  him  with  the 
disgrace  that  menials  who  make  themselves  mere  fiends  are 
guilty  of,' Maxwell  thought  to  himself. 

"  I  will  set  you  free,  if  it  cost  my  life  !"  he  exclaimed. 

"  Hush,  hush  !"  rejoined  Clotilda  :  "  remember  those 
wretches  on  the  plantation.  They,  through  their  ignorance, 
have  learned  to  wield  the  tyranny  of  petty  power ;  they  look 
upon  us  with  suspicious  eyes.  They  know  we  are  negroes 
(white  negroes,  who  are  despicable  in  their  eyes),  and  feel 
ing  that  we  are  more  favoured,  their  envy  is  excited.  They, 
with  the  hope  of  gaining  favour,  are  first  to  disclose  a  secret. 
Save  my  child  first,  and  then  save  me" — 

"  I  will  save  you  first ;  rest  assured,  I  will  save  you ;  " 


90  A  CLOUD  03?  MISFOBTTJNE 

he  responded,  shaking  her  hand,  bidding  her  good  night. 
On  returning  to  the  mansion  he  found  Marston  seated  at  the 
table  in  the  drawing-room,  in  a  meditative  mood.  "  Good 
night,  my  friend !  "  he  accosted  him. 

"  Ah,  good  night !"  was  the  sudden  response. 

"  You  seem  cast  down  ?*' 

"  No  ! — all's  not  as  it  seems  with  a  man  in  trouble.  How 
misfortune  quickens  our  sense  of  right !  O  !  how  it  unfolds 
political  and  moral  wrongs !  how  it  purges  the  understand 
ing,  and  turns  the  good  of  our  natures  to  thoughts  of 
justice.  But  when  the  power  to  correct  is  beyond  our 
reach  we  feel  the  wrong  most  painfully,"  Marston  coldly 
replied. 

"  It  never  is  too  late  to  do  good ;  my  word  for  it,  friend 
Marston,  good  is  always  worth  its  services.  I  am  young 
and  may  serve  you  yet ;  rise  above  trouble,  never  let  trifles 
trouble  a  man  like  you.  The  world  seems  wagging  pleasantly 
for  you ;  everybody  on  the  plantation  is  happy ;  Lorenzo  has 
gone  into  the  world  to  distinguish  himself ;  grief  should 
never  lay  its  scalpel  in  your  feelings.  Remember  the  motto — 
peace,  pleasantry,  and  plenty  ;  they  are  things  which  should 
always  dispel  the  foreshadowing  of  unhappiness,"  says 
Maxwell,  jocularly,  taking  a  chair  at  Marston's  request,  and 
seating  himself  by  the  table. 

Marston  declares  such  consolation  to  be  refreshing,  but 
too  easily  conceived  to  effect  his  purpose.  The  ripest  fruits 
of  vice  often  produce  the  best  moral  reflections :  he  feels 
convinced  of  this  truth ;  but  here  the  consequences  are 
entailed  upon  others.  The  degradation  is  sunk  too  deep 
for  recovery  by  him, — his  reflections  are  only  a  burden  to 
him.  The  principle  that  moves  him  to  atone  is  crushed  by 
the  very  perplexity  of  the  law  that  compels  him  to  do 
wrong.  "There's  what  goads  me,"  he  says:  "it  is  the 
system,  the  forced  condition  making  one  man  merchan 
dise,  and  giving  another  power  to  continue  him  as  such." 
He  arises  from  the  table,  his  face  flushed  with  excitement, 
and  in  silence  paces  the  room  to  and  fro  for  several 
minutes.  Every  now  and  then  he  watches  at  the  window, 
— looks  out  towards  the  river,  and  again  at  the  pine-woods 
forming  a  belt  in  the  background,  as  if  he  expected  some 
one  from  that  direction.  The  serene  scene  without,  calm 
and  beautiful,  contrasting  with  the  perplexity  that  sur- 


HANGS  OVEli  THK  PLANTATION.  91 

rounded  him  within,  brought  the  reality  of  the  change  which 
must  soon  take  place  in  his  affairs  more  vividly  to  his  mind. 

"  Tour  feelings  have  been  stimulated  and  modified  by 
education ;  they  are  keenly  sensitive  to  right, — to  justice 
between  man  and  man.  Those  are  the  beautiful  results  of 
early  instruction.  New  England  education !  It  founds  a 
principle  for  doing  good ;  it  needs  no  contingencies  to  rouse 
it  to  action.  You  can  view  slavery  with  the  unprejudiced 
eye  of  a  philosopher.  Listen  to  what  I  am  about  to  say  : 
but  a  few  months  have  passed  since  I  thought  myself  a  man 
of  affluence,  and  now  nothing  but  the  inroads  of  penury  are 
upon  me.  The  cholera  (that  scourge  of  a  southern  planta 
tion)  is  again  sweeping  the  district :  I  cannot  expect  to 
escape  it,  and  I  am  in  the  hands  of  a  greater  scourge  than 
the  cholera, — a  slow  death-broker.  He  will  take  from  you 
that  which  the  cholera  would  not  deign  to  touch :  he  has  no 
more  conscience  than  a  cotton-preas,"  says  Marston,  reclining 
back  in  his  chair,  and  calling  the  negro  waiter. 

The  word  conscience  fell  upon  Maxwell's  ear  with  strange 
effect.  He  had  esteemed  Marston  according  to  his  habits 
-not  a  good  test  when  society  is  so  remiss  of  its  duties :  he 
could  not  reconcile  the  touch  of  conscience  in  such  a 
person,  nor  could  he  realise  the  impulse  through  which 
some  sudden  event  was  working  a  moral  regeneration  in 
his  mind.  There  was  something  he  struggled  to  keep  from 
notice.  The  season  had  been  unpropitious,  bad  crops  had 
resulted ;  the  cholera  made  its  appearance,  swept  off  many 
of  the  best  negroes,  spread  consternation,  nearly  suspended 
discipline  and  labour.  One  by  one  his  negroes  fell  victims 
to  its  ravages,  until  it  became  imperatively  necessary  to 
remove  the  remainder  to  the  pine-woods. 

Families  migj^  be  seen  here  and  there  making  their  little 
preparations  to  leave  for  the  hills :  the  direful  scourge  to 
them  was  an  evil  spirit,  sent  as  a  visitation  upon  their  bad 
deeds.  This  they  sincerely  believe,  coupling  it  with  all  the 
superstition  their  ignorance  gives  rise  to.  A  few  miles 
from  the  mansion,  among  the  pines,  rude  camps  are  spread 
out,  fires  burn  to  absorb  the  malaria,  to  war  against 
mosquitoes,  to  cook  the  evening  meal ;  while,  up  lonely 
paths,  ragged  and  forlorn-looking  negroes  are  quietly 
wending  their  way  to  take  possession.  The  stranger  might 
view  this  forest  bivouac  as  a  picture  of  humble  life  pleasantly 


92  A  CLOUD  OF  MISFORTUNE 

domiciled ;  but  it  is  one  of  those  unfortunate  scenes,  fruit 
ful  of  evil,  which  beset  the  planter  when  he  is  least  able 
to  contend  against  them.  Such  events  develope  the  sin  of 
an  unrighteous  institution,  bring  its  supporters  to  the 
portals  of  poverty,  consign  harmless  hundreds  to  the  slave- 
marts. 

In  this  instance,  however,  we  must  give  Marston  credit 
for  all  that  was  good  in  his  intentions,  and  separate  him 
from  the  system.  Repentance,  however  produced,  is  valuable 
for  its  example,  and  if  too  late  for  present  utility,  seldom 
fails  to  have  an  ultimate  influence.  Thus  it  was  with 
Marston  ;  and  now  that  all  these  inevitable  disasters  were 
upon  him,  he  resolved  to  be  a  father  to  Annette  and  Nicholas, 
— those  unfortunates  whom  law  and  custom  had  hitherto 
compelled  him  to  disown. 

Drawing  his  chair  close  to  Maxwell,  he  lighted  a  cigar, 
and  resumed  the  disclosure  his  feelings  had  apparently  in 
terrupted  a  few  minutes  before.  "  Now,  my  good  friend, 
all  these  things  are  upon  me ;  there  is  no  escaping  the  issue. 
My  people  will  soon  be  separated  from  me  ;  my  old,  faithful 
servants,  Bob  and  Harry,  will  regret  me,  and  if  they  fall 
into  the  hands  of  a  knave,  will  die  thinking  of  the  old  plan 
tation.  As  for  Harry,  I  have  made  him  a  preacher, — his 
knowledge  is  wonderfully  up  on  Scripture ;  he  has  demon 
strated  to  me  that  niggers  are  more  than  mortal,  or 
transitory  things.  My  conscience  was  touched  while 
listening  to  one  of  his  sermons  ;  and  then,  to  think  how 
I  had  leased  him  to  preach  upon  a  neighbouring  plantation, 
jast  as  a  man  would  an  ox  to  do  a  day's  work!  Planters 
paid  me  so  much  per  sermon,  as  if  the  gospel  were  merchan 
dise,  and  he  a  mere  thing  falsifying  all  my  arguments 
against  his  knowledge  of  the  Word  of  Grod^Well,  it  makes 
me  feel  as  if  I  were  half  buried  in  my  own  degradation  and 
blindness.  And  then,  again,  they  are  our  property,  and 
are  bestowed  upon  us  by  a  legal 

"  If  that  be  wrong,"  interrupted  Maxwell,  "  you  have  no 
excuse  for  continuing  it." 

"  True  !  That's  just  what  I  was  coming  at.  The  evil  in 
its  broadest  expanse  is  there.  We  look  calmly  on  the 
external  objects  of  the  system  without  solving  its  internal 
grievances, — we  build  a  right  upon  the  ruins  of  ancient 
wrongs,  and  we  swathe  our  thoughts  with  inconsistency  that 


HANGS  OVER  THE  PLANTATION.  93 

we  may  make  the  curse  of  a  system  invulnerable.  It  is  not 
that  we  cannot  do  good  under  a  bad  system,  but  that  we 
cannot  ameliorate  it,  lest  we  weaken  the  foundation.  And  yet 
all  this  seems  as  nothing  when  I  recall  a  sin  of  greater  mag 
nitude — a  sin  that  is  upon  me — a  hideous  blot,  goading  my 
very  soul,  rising  up  against  me  like  a  mountain,  over  which 
I  can  see  no  pass.  Again  the  impelling  force  of  conscience 
incites  me  to  make  a  desperate  effort ;  but  conscience  rebukes 
me  for  not  preparing  the  way  in  time.  I  could  translate 
my  feelings  further,  but,  in  doing  so,  the  remedy  seems  still 
further  from  me " 

"  Is  it  ever  too  late  to  try  a  remedy — to  make  an  effort  to 
surmount  great  impediments — to  render  justice  to  those 
who  have  suffered  from  such  acts  ?"  inquired  Maxwell, 
interrupting  Marston  as  he  proceeded. 

"  If  I  could  do  it  without  sacrificing  my  honour,  without 
exposing  myself  to  the  vengeance  of  the  law.  "We  are 
great  sticklers  for  constitutional  law,  while  we  care  little 
for  constitutional  justice.  There  is  Clotilda ;  you  see  her, 
but  you  don't  know  her  history :  if  it  were  told  it  would 
resound  through  the  broad  expanse  of  our  land.  Yes,  it 
would  disclose  a  wrong,  perpetrated  under  the  smiles  of 
liberty,  against  which  the  vengeance  of  high  Ileaven  would 
be  invoked.  I  know  the  secret,  and  yet  I  dare  not  disclose 
it  ;  the  curse  handed  down  from  her  forefathers  has  been 
perpetuated  by  me.  She  seems  happy,  and  yet  she  is  un 
happy  ;  the  secret  recesses  of  her  soul  are  poisoned.  And 
what  more  natural  ?  for,  by  some  unlucky  incident,  she 
has  got  an  inkling  of  the  foul  means  by  which  she  was  made 
a  slave.  To  him  who  knows  the  right,  the  wrong  is  most 
painful ;  but  I  bought  her  of  him  whose  trade  it  was  to  sell 
such  flesh  and  blood !  And  yet  that  does  not  relieve  me 
from  the  curse :  there's  the  stain ;  it  hangs  upon  me,  it 
involves  my  indications,  it  gloats  over  my  downfall " 

"You  bought  her!"  again  interrupts  Maxwell. 

"  True,"  rejoins  the  other,  quickly,  "  'tis  a  trade  well 
protected  by  our  democracy.  Once  bought,  we  cannot 
relieve  ourselves  by  giving  them  rights  in  conflict  with 
the  claims  of  creditors.  Our  will  may  be  good,  but  the 
will  without  the  means  falls  hopeless.  My  heart  breaks 
under  the  knowledge  that  those  children  are  mine.  It  is  a 
sad  revelation  to  make, — sad  in  the  eyes  of  heaven  arid  earth. 


94  A  CLOUD  OF  MISFORTUNE 

My  participation  in  wrong  has  proved  sorrow  to  them :  how 
can  I  look  to  the  pains  and  struggles  they  must  endure  in 
life,  when  stung  with  the  knowledge  that  I  am  the  cause 
of  it  ?  I  shall  wither  under  the  torture  of  my  own  con 
science.  And  there  is  even  an  interest  about  them  that 
makes  my  feelings  bound  joyfully  when  I  recur  them.  Can 
it  be  aught  but  the  fruit  of  natural  affection  ?  I  think 
not ;  and  yet  I  am  compelled  to  disown  them,  and  even  to 
smother  with  falsehood  the  rancour  that  might  find  a  place 
in  Pranconia's  bosom.  Clotilda  loves  Annette  with  a 
mother's  fondness  ;  but  with  all  her  fondness  for  her  child 
she  dare  not  love  me,  nor  I  the  child." 

Maxwell  suggests  that  his  not  having  bought  the  child 
would  certainly  give  him  the  right  to  control  his  own  flesh 
and  blood :  but  he  knows  little  of  slave  law,  and  less  of  its 
customs.  He,  however,  was  anxious  to  draw  from  Marston 
full  particulars  of  the  secret  that  would  disclose  Clotilda's 
history,  over  which  the  partial  exposition  had  thrown  the 
charm  of  mystery.  Several  times  he  was  on  the  eve  of 
proffering  his  services  to  relieve  the  burden  working  upon 
Marston's  mind ;  but  his  sympathies  were  enlisted  toward 
the  two  unfortunate  women,  for  whom  he  was  ready  to 
render  good  service,  to  relieve  them  and  their  children. 
Again,  he  remembered  how  singularly  sensitive  Southerners 
were  on  matters  concerning  the  peculiar  institution,  espe 
cially  when  approached  by  persons  from  abroad.  Perhaps 
it  was  a  plot  laid  by  Marston  to  ascertain  his  feelings  on  the 
subject,  or,  under  that  peculiar  jealousy  of  Southerners  who 
live  in  this  manner,  he  might  have  discovered  his  interview 
with  Clotilda,  and,  in  forming  a  plan  to  thwart  his  project, 
adopted  this  singular  course  for  disarming  apprehensions. 

At  this  stage  of  the  proceedings  a  whispering  noi*e  was 
heard,  as  if  coming  from  another  part  of  the  room.  They 
stopped  at  the  moment,  looked  round  with  surprise,  but  not 
seeing  anything,  resumed  the  conversation. 

"  Of  whom  did  you  purchase  ?"  inquired  Maxwell, 
anxiously.  « 

"  One  Silenus ;  a  trader  who  trades  in  this  quality  of 
property  only,  and  has  become  rich  by  the  traffic.  He  is 
associated  with  Anthony  liomescos,  once  a  desperado  on 
the  Texan  frontier.  These  two  coveys  would  sell  their 
messmates  without  a  scruple,  and  think  it  no  harm  so  long 


HANGS  OVER  THE  PLANTATION.  95 

as  they  turned  a  dime.  They  kuow  every  justice  of  the 
peace  from  Texas  to  Fort  M'Henry.  liomescos  is  turned 
the  desperado  again,  shoots,  kills,  and  otherwise  commits 
fell  deeds  upon  his  neighbour's  negroes  ;  he  even  threatens 
them  with  death  when  they  approach  him  for  reparation. 
He  snaps  his  fingers  at  law,  lawyers,  and  judges :  slave  law 
is  moonshine  to  those  who  have  no  rights  in  common 

law " 

"  And  he  escapes  ?  Then  you  institute  laws,  and  substitute 
custom  to  make  them  null.  It  is  a  poor  apology  for  a  name 
sake.  But  do  you  assert  that  in  the  freest  and  happiest 
country — a  country  that  boasts  the  observance  of  its 
statute  laws — a  man  is  privileged  to  shoot,  maim,  and 
torture  a  fellow-being,  and  that  public  opinion  fails  to  bring 
him  to  justice  ?"  ejaculated  Maxwell. 

"  Yes,"  returns  Marston,  seriously ;  "  it  is  no  less  shame 
ful  than  true.  Three  of  my  negroes  has  he  killed  very 
good-naturedly,  and  yet  I  have  no  proof  to  convict  him. 
Even  were  I  to  seek  redress,  it  would  be  against  that 
prejudice  which  makes  the  rights  of  the  enslaved  un 
popular." 

The  trouble  exists  in  making  the  man  merchandise, 
reducing  him  to  an  abject  being,  without  the  protection  of 
common  law.  Presently  the  tears  began  to  flow  down 
Marston's  cheeks,  as  he  unbuttoned  his  shirt-collar  with  an 
air  of  restlessness,  approached  a  desk  that  stood  in  one 
corner  of  the  room,  and  drew  from  it  a  somewhat  defaced 
bill  of  sale.  There  was  something  connected  with  that 
bit  of  paper,  which,  apart  from  anything  else,  seemed  to 
harass  him  most.  "  But  a  minute  before  you  entered  I 
looked  upon  that  paper,"  he  spoke,  throwing  it  upon  the 
table,  "  and  thought  how  much  trouble  it  had  brought  me, 
how  through  it  I  had  left  a  curse  upon  innocent  life.  I  paid 
fifteen  hundred  dollars  for  the  souls  and  bodies  of  those 
two  women,  creatures  of  sense,  delicacy,  and  tenderness. 
But  I  am  not  a  bad  man,  after  all.  No,  there  are  worse  men 
than  me  in  the  world." 

"  Gather,  gathe'r,  ye  incubus  of  misfortunja,  bearing  to 
me  the  light  of  heaven,  with  which  to  see  my  sins.  May  it 
come  to  turn  my  heart  in  the  right  way,  to  seek  its 
retribution  on  the  wrong !"  Thus  concluding,  Marston 
covers  his  face  in  his  hands,  and  for  several  minutes  weeps 


96  A  CLOUD  OF  MISFORTUNE 

like  a  child.  Again  rising  from  his  seat,  he  throws  the  paper 
on  a  table  near  an  open  window,  and  himself  upon  a  conch 
near  by. 

Maxwell  attempts  to  quiet  him  by  drawing  his  attention 
from  the  subject.  There  is  little  use,  however, — it  is  a 
terrible  conflict, — the  conflict  of  conscience  awakening  to  a 
sense  of  its  errors ;  the  fate  of  regrets  when  it  is  too  late 
to  make  amends. 

While  this  was  going  on,  a  brawny  hand  reached  into  the 
window,  and  quickly  withdrew  the  paper  from  the  table. 
Neither  observed  it. 

And  at  the  moment,  Marston  ejaculated,  "  I  will !  I  will ! 
let  it  cost  what  it  may.  I  will  do  justice  to  Clotilda  and 
her  child, — to  Ellen  and  her  child ;  I  will  free  them,  send 
them  into  a  free  country  to  be  educated."  In  his  excitement 
he  forgot  the  bill  of  sale. 

"Like  enough  you  will!"  responds  a  gruff  voice;  and  a 
loud  rap  at  the  hall-door  followed.  Dandy  was  summoned, 
opened  the  door,  bowed  Bomescos  into  the  room.  He 
pretends  to  be  under  the  influence  of  liquor,  which  he 
hopes  will  excuse  his  extraordinary  familiarity  at  such  a  late 
hour.  Touching  the  hilt  of  his  knife,  he  swaggers  into  the 
presence  of  Marston,  looks  at  him  fixedly,  impertinently 
demands  something  to  drink.  He  cares  not  what  it  be, 
waits  for  no  ceremony,  tips  the  decanter,  gulps  his  glass, 
and  deliberately  takes  a  seat. 

The  reader  will  perhaps  detect  the  object  of  his  presence  ; 
but,  beyond  that,  there  is  something  deep  and  desperate  in 
the  appearance  of  the  man,  rendering  his  familiarity  exceed 
ingly  disagreeable.  That  he  should  present  himself  at 
such  an  untimely  hour  was  strange,  beyond  Marston' s 
comprehension.  It  was,  indeed,  most  inopportune ;  but 
knowing  him,  he  feared  him.  He  could  not  treat  him  with 
indifference, — there  was  hia  connection  with  Graspum,  hi> 
power  over  the  poor  servile  whites  ;  he  must  be  courteous — 
so,  summoning  his  suavity,  he  orders  Dandy  to  wait 
upon  him. 

Komescos  amuses  himself  with  sundry  rude  expression* 
about  the  etiquette  of  gentlemen, — their  rights  and  asso 
ciations, — the  glorious  freedom  of  a  glorious  land.  Not 
heeding  Dandy's  attention,  he  fills  another  glass  copiously, 
twirls  it  upon  the  table,  eyes  Marston,  and  then  Maxwell, 


HANGS  OVER  THE  PLANTATION.  97 

playfully — drinks  his  beverage  with  the  air  of  one  quite 
at  home. 

"  Marston,  old  feller,"  he  says,  winking  at  Maxwell, 
"things  don't  jibe  so  straight  as  they  use't — do  they? 
I  wants  a  stave  o*  conversation  on  matters  o'  business  with 
ye  to-morrow.  It's  a  smart  little  property  arrangement ; 
but  I  ain't  in  the  right  fix  just  now ;  I  can't  make  the 
marks  straight  so  we  can  understand  two  imd  two.  Te 
take,  don't  ye  ?  Somethin'  touching  a  genteel  business 
with  your  fast  young  nephew,  Lorenzo.  Caution  to  the 
wise."  Romescos,  making  several  vain  attempts,  rises, 
laughing  with  a  half-independent  air,  puts  his  slouch  hat  on 
his  head,,  staggers  to  the  door,  makes  passes  at  Dandy, 
who  waits  his  egress,  and  bidding  them  good  night, 
disappears. 


CHAPTEE  IX. 

WHO  IS  SAFE  AGAINST  THE  POWfiR  ? 

THE  cholera  raging  on  Marston's  plantation,  bad  excited 
Graspum's  feara.  His  pecuniary  interests  were  above 
every  other  consideration — be  knew  BO  higher  object  than 
the  accumulation  of  wealth ;  and  to  ascertain  tb^e  precise 
nature  and  extent  of  the  malady  he  had  sent  Bomescos  to 
reconnoitre. 

Returning  to  the  long-room  at  Grraspum's  slave-pen,  we 
must  introduce  the  reader  to  scenes  which  take  place  on 
the  night  following  that  upon  which  Bomescos  secured  the 
bill  of  sale  at  Marston's  mansion. 

Around  the  table  we  have  before  described  sit 
Graspum  and  some  dozen  of  his  clan.  Conspicuous  among 
them  is  Dan  Bengal,  and  jN^ath  Nimrod,  whom  we  described  as 
running  into  the  room  unceremoniously,  holding  by  the  hair 
the  head  of  a  negro,  and  exulting  over  it  as  a  prize  of  much 
value.  They  are  relating  their  adventures,  speculating  over 
the  prospects  .of  trade,  comparing  notes  on  the  result  of 
making  free  trash  human  property  worth  something! 
They  all  manifest  the  happiest  of  feelings,  have  a  language 
of  their  own,  converse  freely  ;  at  times  sprinkle  their  con 
versation  with  pointed  oaths.  They  are  conversant  with 
the  business  affairs  of  every  planter  in  the  State,  know  his 
liabilities,  the  condition  of  his  negroes,  his  hard  cases,  his 
bad  cases,  his  runaways,  and  his  prime  property.  Their 
dilations  on  the  development  of  wenches,  shades  of  colour, 
qualities  of  stock  suited  to  the  various  markets — from  Bich- 
mond  to  New  Orleans — disclose  a  singular  foresight  into  the 
article  of  poor  human  nature. 

"  There's  nothing  like  pushing  our  kind  of  business, 
specially  whin  ye  gits  it  where  ye  can  push  profitably," 
speaks  Bengal,  his  fiery  red  eyes  glaring  over  the  table  as 
he  droops  his  head  sluggishly,  and,  sipping  his  whiskey, 
lets  it  drip  over  his  beard  upon  his  bosom ;  "  if  't  warn't  for 


"Ye  see,  now,  Graspum,"  he  quaintly 
remarks,  as  he  takes  up  the  candle  to  light 
his  cigar,  "whatever  ye  do  is  right,  so 
long  as  the  law  gives  a  feller  a  right  to 
do  it.  'Tisn't  a  bit  o'  use  to  think  how  a 
man  can  be  too  nice  in  his  feelings,  when 
a  hundred  or  two's  to  be  made  on  nigge 
property  what's  delicate,  'taint !  A  fel 
ler  feels  sore,  once  in  a  while,  a'  cos  his 
conscience  is  a  little  touchy,  now  and 
then ;  but  it  won't  do  to  give  way  to 
it — conscience  don't  bring  cash ! " 


*&. 


A  DROVE  OF  VERY  MARKETABLE  PEOPLE 


"WHO  IS  SAFE  AGAINST  TilK  JL'OWEH  ?  99 

Anthony's  cunnin'  we'd  have  a  pesky  deal  of  crooked  law  to 
stumble  through  afore  we'd  get  them  rich  uns  upset." 

My  reader  must  know  that  southern  law  and  justice  for 
the  poor  succumb  to  popular  feeling  in  all  slave  atmos 
pheres  ;  and  happy  is  the  fellow  who  can  work  his  way 
through  slavedom  without  being  dependent  upon  the  one  or 
brought  under  the  influence  of  the  other. 

Graspum,  in  reply  to  Bengal,  feels  that  gentlemen  in  the 
"nigger  business"  should  respect  themselves.  He.  well 
knows  there  exists  not  the  best  feeling  in  the  world  between 
them  and  the  more  exclusive  aristocracy,  whose  feelings 
must  inevitably  be  modified  to  suit  the  democratic  spirit  of 
the  age.  He  himself  enjoys  that  most  refined  society, 
which  he  asserts  to  be  strong  proof  of  the  manner  in  which 
democracy  is  working  its  way  to  distinction.  Our  business, 
he  says,  hath  so  many  avenues  that  it  has  become  positively 
necessary  that  some  of  them  should  be  guarded  by  men  of 
honour,  dignity,  and  irreproachable  conduct.  Now,  he 
has  sent  Anthouy  Romescos  to  do  some  watching  on  the 
sly,  at  Marston's  plantation ;  but  there  is  nothing  dis 
honourable  in  that,  inasmuch  as  the  victim  is  safe  in  his 
claws.  Contented  with  these  considerations,  Grraspum 
puffs  his  cigar  very  composedly.  From  slave  nature,  slave- 
seeking  adventures,  and  the  intricacies  of  the  human-property- 
market,  they  turn  to  the  discussion  of  state  rights,  of  free 
dom  in  its  broadest  and  most  practical  sense.  And,  upon 
the  principle  of  the  greatest  despot  being  foremost  to 
discuss  what  really  constitutes  freedom,  which,  however,  he 
always  argues  in  an  abstract  sense,  Nimrod  was  loudest 
and  most  lavish  in  his  praises  of  a  protective  government — 
a  government  that  would  grant  great  good  justice  to  the 
white  man  only.  It  matters  little  to  JNimrod  which  is  the 
greater  nigger ;  he  believes  in  the  straight  principles  of  right 
in  the  white  man.  It  is  not  so  much  how  justice  is  carried 
out  when  menial  beings  form  a  glorious  merchandise  ;  but 
it  is  the  true  essence  of  liberty,  giving  men  power  to  keep 
society  all.  straight,  to  practice  liberty  very  liberally. 
"  Ye  see,  now,  Grraspum,"  he  quaintly  remarks,  as  he  takes 
up  the  candle  to  light  his  cigar,  "  whatever  ye  do  is  right, 
so  long  as  the  law  gives  a  feller  a  right  to  do  it.  'Tisn't 
a  bit  o'  use  to  think  how  a  man  can  be  too  nice  in  his  feel 
ings  when  a  hundred  or  two's  to  be  made  on  nigger  property 


100  WHO  IS  SAKE  AOAIKST  THE  POWER? 

what's  delicate,  faint !  A  feller  feels  sore  once  in  a  while,  a' 
cos  his  conscience  is  a  little  touchy  now  and  then;  but  it  won't 
do  to  give  way  to  it — conscience  don't  bring  cash.  When  ye 
launches  out  in  the  nigger-trading  business  ye  must  feel 
vengeance  agin  the  brutes,  and  think  how  it's  only  trade  ; 
how  it's  perfectly  legal — and  how  it's  encouraged  by  the 
Governor's  proclamations.  Human  natur's  human  natur'  ; 
and  when  ye  can  turn  a  penny  at  it,  sink  all  the  in'ard 
inclinations.  Just  let  the  shiners  slide  in,  it  don't  matter 
a  tenpence  where  ye  got  'em.  Trade's  everything !  you 
might  as  well  talk  about  patriotism  among  crowned  heads, — 
about  the  chivalry  of  commerce :  cash  makes  consequence, 
and  them's  what  makes  gentlemen,  south." 

They  welcome  the  spirits,  although  it  has  already  made 
them  soulless.  The  negro  listens  to  a  dialogue  of  singular 
import  to  himself;  his  eyes  glistened  with  interest,  as  one 
by  one  they  sported  over  the  ignorance  enforced  upon  the 
weak.  One  by  one  they  threw  their  slouch  hats  upon  the 
floor,  drew  closer  in  conclave,  forming  a  grotesque  picture 
of  fiendish  faces.  "  Now,  gentlemen,"  Grraspum  deigns  to 
say,  after  a  moment's  pause,  motioning  to  the  decanter, 
"  pass  it  along  round  when  ye  gets  a  turn  about."  He  fills 
his  glass  and  drinks,  as  if  drink  were  a  necessary  accom 
paniment  of  the  project  before  them.  "  This  case  of 
Marston's  is  a  regular  plumper;  there's  a  spec  to  be  made 
in  that  stock  of  stuff ;  and  them  bright  bits  of  his  own — 
they  look  like  him —  '11  make  right  smart  fancy.  Ther' 
developing  just  in  the  right  sort  of  way  to  be  valuable  for 
market." 

"  There's  movin'  o'  the  shrewdest  kind  to  be  done  there, 
Graspum !  Where's  the  dockerment  what  '11  make  'um 
property,  eh  ?"  interrupted  Nimrod,  twisting  the  hair  with 
which  his  face  is  covered  into  fantastic  points. 

"  Oh,  my  good  fellows,  public  opinion's  the  dockerment ; 
with  the  bright  side  of  public  opinion !  Public  opinion 
whispers  about  Clotilda:  it  says  she  looks  so  much  like 
that  niece  of  Marston's,  that  you  couldn't  tell  them  apart. 
And  they  are  like  two  pins,  gentlemen ;  but  then  one's 
property  and  t'other's  anything  but  property.  One  will 
bring  something  substantial  in  the  market :  I  wouldn't  say 
much  about  the  other.  But  there's  pride  in  the  whole 
family,  and  where  it's  got  into  the  niggers  it's  worth  a  few 


WHO  IS  SAFE  A&AINST  THE  POWEB  ?  101 

extra  dollars.  The  Marstons  and  Roveros  don't  think  much 
of  we  dealers  when  they  don't  want  our  money  ;  but  when 
they  do  we  are  cousins  of  the  right  stripe.  However,  these 
ere  little  aristocratic  notions  don't  mount  to  much ;  they 
are  bin  generous  blood-mixers,  and  now  they  may  wince 
over  it — — - " 

Graspum  is  interrupted  again.  Bengal  has  been  analysing 
his  logic,  and  rises  to  dispute  the  logic  of  his  arguments. 
He  is  ready  to  stake  his  political  faith,  and  all  his  common 
sense — of  which  he  never  fails  to  boast — that  mixing  the 
blood  of  the  two  races  destroys  the  purity  of  the  nigger, 
spiles  the  gauge  of  the  market,  detracts  from  real  planta 
tion  property,  and  will  just  upset  the  growin'  of  young 
niggers.  He  is  sure  he  knows  just  as  much  about  the  thing 
as  anybody  else,  has  never  missed  his  guess,  although  folks 
say  he  aint  no  way  clever  at  selection ;  and,  rubbing  his  eyes 
after  adjusting  the  long  black  hair  that  hangs  down  over 
his  shoulders,  hie  folds  his  arms  with  an  independent  air,  and 
waits  the  rejoinder. 

The  dingy  room  breathes  thick  of  deleterious  fumes ;  a 
gloom  hangs  over  their  meditations,  deep  and  treacherous:  it 
excites  fear,  not  of  the  men,  but  of  the  horrors  of  their  trade. 
A  dim  light  hangs  suspended  from  the  ceiling :  even  the 
sickly  shade  contrasts  strangely  with  their  black  purpose. 

"  Variety  of  shade,  my  dear  Bengal,  is  none  of  our 
business.  If  you  make  a  division  you  destroy  the  property 
and  the  principle.  "We  don't  represent  the  South :  if  we 
did,  my  stars  !  how  the  abolitionists  would  start  up, — eh ! 
Now,  there's  a  right  smart  chance  of  big  aristocrat  folks 
in  the  district,  and  they  think  something  of  their  niggers, 
and  some  are  fools  enough  to  think  niggers  have  souls  just 
as  white  as  we.  That's  where  the  thing  don't  strike  our 
moraU  alike.  It's  all  right  to  let  such  folks  represent  us — 
that  it  is !  It  tells  down  north." 

"  I  goes  in  for  that !  It  puts  a  polished  face  on  the 
brown  side  of  things.  That's  the  way  I  puts  it  on  when  I 
gets  among  the  big  'uns  on  'Change.  I  talks  to  one,  shakes 
hands  with  another,  touches  my  hat  to  the  president  of  the 
bank  ;  and  then  them  what  don't  know  thinks  how  I  do  a 
little  in  the  taking  a  corner  of  notes  line !"  "  In  the  same  sly 
way  that  directors  of  banks  do,"  interrupts  a  voice,  sullenly 
and  slow.  It  was  long  Joe  Morphet,  the  constable's  sponge, 


102  WHO  IS  SAFE  AGAINST  THE  POWEB  ? 

who  did  a  little  in  the  line  of  nigger  trailing,  and  now  and 
then  acted  as  a  contingent  of  Graspum.  Joe  had,  silently 
and  with  great  attention,  listened  to  their  consultations, 
expecting  to  get  a  hook  on  at  some  point  where  his  services 
would  play  at  a  profit ;  but  it  all  seemed  beyond  big  com 
prehension — amounted  to  nothing. 

"  There's  something  in  Joe,  gentlemen !  But  our 
genteelest  folks  don't  alway  do  the  genteelest  things,  arter 
all.  Eight — right!  Joe's  right !"  Graspum  has  suddenly 
comprehended  Joe's  logic,  and  brightens  up  with  the  posses 
sion  of  a  new  idea,  that  at  first  was  inclined  to  get  crosswise 
in  his  mind,  which  he  has  drilled  in  the  minor  details  of 
human  nature  rather  than  the  political  dignity  of  the  state. 
Joe's  ideas  are  ranging  over  the  necessity  of  keeping  up  a 
good  outside  for  the  state  ;  Graspum  thinks  only  of  keeping 
up  the  dignity  of  himself.  "  "Well,  give  in,  fellers ;  Joe's 
right  clever.  He's  got  head  enough  to  get  into  Congress, 
and  if  polished  up  wouldn't  make  the  worst  feller  that  ever 
was  sent :  he  wouldn't,  to  my  certain  knowledge.  Joe's 
clever !  What  great  men  do  with  impunity  little  men  have 
no  scruples  in  following ;  what  the  state  tolerates,  knaves 
may  play  upon  to  their  own  advantage.  To  keep  up  the 
dignity  of  a  slave  state,  slave  dealers  must  keep  up  dignity 
among  themselves :  the  one  cannot  live  without  the  other. 
They  must  affect,  and  the  state  must  put  on,  the  dignity  ; 
and  northerners  what  aint  gentlemen  must  be  taught  to 
know  that  they  aint  gentlemen."  This  is  the  conclusion 
to  which  Graspum  has  arrived  on  the  maturest  reflection  of 
a  few  minutes :  it  conforms  with  the  opinion  and  dignity  of 
slaveocracy — must  be  right,  else  the  glorious  Union,  with 
the  free-thinking  north  unfortunately  attached,  could  never 
be  preserved.  It's  the  nut  of  a  glorious  compact  which 
the  south  only  must  crack,  and  will  crack.  Graspum  apolo 
gised  for  the  thing  having  escaped  his  memory  so  long.  He 
remembered  that  southerners  left  no  stone  unturned  that 
could  serve  the  policy  of  concentrating  slave  power;  and 
he  remembered  that  it  was  equally  necessary  to  keep  an  eye 
to  the  feeling  abroad.  There  were  in  America  none  but 
southern  nobles, — no  affable  gentlemen  who  could  do  the 
grace  of  polite  circles  except  themselves, — none  who,  through 
their  bland  manners,  could  do  more  to  repel  the  awful 
descriptions  given  of  southern  society,  nor  •who  could  not 


WHO  18  SAFE  AGAINST  THE  POWER  ?  101} 

make  strangers  believe  slaves  were  happy  mortals,  happily 
created  to  live  in  all  the  happiness  of  slave  life.  "  There's 
nothing  like  putting  our  learned  folks  ahead — they're 
polished  down  for  the  purpose,  you  see — and  letting  them 
represent  us  when  abroad ;  they  puts  a  different  sort  of  shine 
on  things  what  our  institution  makes  profitable.  They 
don't  always  set  good  examples  at  home,  but  we  can't  con 
trol  their  tastes  on  small  matters  of  that  kind :  and  then, 
what  a  valuable  offset  it  is,  just  to  have  the  power  of  doing 
the  free  and  easy  gentleman,  to  be  the  brilliant  companion, 
to  put  on  the  smooth  when  you  go  among  nobility  what 
don't  understand  the  thing  !"  Graspum  adds,  with  a  cunning 
wink. 

"  Pooh  !  pooh !  such  talk  don't  jingle.  You  can't  separate 
our  aristocracy  from  mistress-keeping.  It's  a  matter  of 
romance  -with  them, — a  matter  of  romance,  gentlemen,  that's 
all.  The  south  couldn't  live  without  romance,  she  couldn't!" 
adds  Nimrod,  stretching  back  in  his  chair. 

"  And  where  did  you  get  that  broad  idea  from,  Jakey  ? 
I  kind  o'  likes  that  sort  of  philosophy,"  adds  another. 

"  Philosophy !  I  reckon  how  there  is  deep  and  strong 
philosophy  in  that  ar ;  but  ye  can't  calc'late  much  on't  when 
ye  haint  talents  to  bring  it  out.  That  point  where  the  soul 
comes  in  is  a  puzzler  on  Yankees ;  but  it  takes  our  editors 
and  parsons  to  put  the  arguments  where  the  Yankees  can't 
demolish  them.  Eead  the  Eichmond  ,  my  grand 
mother  of  the  day,  if  ye  want  to  see  the  philosophy  of 
niggers,  and  their  souls.  That  editor  is  a  philosopher  ;  the 
world's  got  to  learn  his  philosophy.  Just  take  that  preacher 
from  New  Jersey,  what  preaches  in  All  Saints ;  if  he  don't 
prove  niggers  aint  no  souls  I'm  a  Dutchman,  and  dead  at 
that !  He  gives  'em  broadside  logic,  gentlemen ;  and  if  he 
hadn't  been  raised  north  he  wouldn't  bin  so  up  on  niggers 
when  he  cum  south,"  was  the  quick  rejoinder  of  our 
knowing  expounder,  who,  looking  Graspum  in  the  face, 
demanded  to  know  if  he  was  not  correct.  Graspum  thinks 
it  better  to  waste  no  more  time  in  words,  but  to  get  at  the 
particular  piece  of  business  for  which  they  have  been  called 
together.  He  is  a  man  of  money, — a  man  of  trade,  ever 
willing  to  admit  the  philosophy  of  the  man-market,  but 
don't  see  the  difference  of  honour  between  the  aristocrat 
who  sells  his  bits  in  the  market,  and  the  honourable  dealer 


104  WHO  18  SAFB  AGAINST  TI1E  POWER  P 

who  gets  but  a  commission  for  selling  them.  And  there's 
something  about  the  parson  who,  forgetting  the  sanctity 
of  his  calling,  sanctifies  everything  pertaining  to  slavery. 
Conscience,  he  admits,  is  a  wonderful  thing  fixed  somewhere 
about  the  heart,  and,  in  spite  of  all  he  can  do,  will  trouble 
it  once  in  a  while.  Marston — poor  Marston  ! — he  declares 
to  be  foolishly  troubled  with  it,  and  it  makes  him  commit 
grievous  errors.  And  then,  there's  no  understandin'  it, 
because  Marston  has  a  funny  way  of  keeping  it  under  such 
a  knotty-looking  exterior.  Graspum  declares  lie  iiad  nothing 
to  do  with  the  breaking  out  of  the  cholera,  is  very  sorry  for 
it, — only  wants  his  own,  just  like  any  other  honest  man. 
He  kind  o'  likes  Marston,  admits  he  is  a  sort  of  good 
fellow  in  his  way ;  mighty  careless  though,  wouldn't  cheat 
anybody  if  lie  knew  it,  and  never  gave  half  a  minute's 
thinking  about  how  uncertain  the  world  was.  But  the 
cholera — a  dire  disease  among  niggers — has  broke  out  in  all 
the  fury  of  its  ravages  ;  and  it  makes  him  think  of  his  sick 
niggers  and  paying  his  debts.  "  You  see,  gentlemen — we 
are  all  gentlemen  here,"  Graspum  continues, — "  a  man  must 
pay  the  penalty  of  his  folly  once  in  a  while.  It's  the  fate 
of  great  men  as  well  as  smaller  ones  ;  all  are  liable  to  it. 
That  isn't  the  thing,  though ;  it  don't  do  to  be  chicken- 
hearted  afore  niggers,  nor  when  yer  dealing  in  niggers,  nor 
in  any  kind  o'  business  what  ye  want  to  make  coin  at. 
Marston  '11  stick  on  that  point,  he  will ;  see  if  he  don't. 
His  feelins'  are  troubling  him :  he  knows  I've  got  the 
assignment ;  and  if  he  don't  put  them  ar'  white  'uns  of  his 
in  the  schedule,  I'll  snap  him  up  for  fraud, — I  will " 

The  conversation  is  here  interrupted  by  a  loud  rap  at  the 
door,  which  is  opened  by  the  negro,  who  stands  with  his 
finger  on  the  latch.  Romescos,  in  his  slovenly  garb,  pre 
sents  himself  with  an  air  of  self-assurance  that  marks  the 
result  of  his  enterprise.  He  is  a  prominent  feature  in  all 
Graspum's  great  operations  ;  he  is  desperate  in  serving  his 
interests.  Drawing  a  handkerchief  from  his  pocket— it  is 
printed  with  the  stars  and  stripes  of  freedom — he  calls  it  a 
New  England  rag,  disdainfully  denounces  that  area  of  un 
believers  in  slaveocracy,  wipes  his  blistered  face  with  it, 
advances  to  the  table—every  eye  intently  watching  him — and 
pauses  for  breath. 

"  What  success,  Anthony  ?     Tell  us  quickly,"   Graspum 


WHO  IS  SAFE  AGAINST  THE  POWER?  105 

demands,  extending  his  hand  nervously.  "Anthony  never 
fails  !  It's  a  fool  who  fails  in  our  business,"  was  the  reply, 
delivered  with  great  unconcern,  and  responded  to  with 
unanimous  applause.  A  warrior  returned  from  victory  was 
Anthony, — a  victory  of  villainy  recorded  in  heaven,  where 
the  rewards  will,  at  some  day,  be  measured  out  with  a  just 
but  awful  retribution. 

The  bosom  of  his  shirt  lays  broadly  open :  one  by  one 
they  shake  his  hand,  as  he  hastily  unties  the  chequered  cloth 
about  his  neck,  pours  out  his  drink  of  whiskey,  seats  him 
self  in  a  chair,  and  deliberately  places  his  feet  upon  the 
table.  "  Ther's  nothin'  like  making  a  triangle  of  oneself 
when  ye  wants  to  feel  so  ye  can  blow  comfortable,"  he  says. 
"  I  done  nothin'  shorter  than  put  all  straight  at  Marston's 
last  night.  It  was  science,  ye  see,  gents ;  and  I  done  it  up 
strictly  according  to  science.  A  teller  what  aint  cunnin', 
and  don't  know  the  nice  work  o'  the  law,  can't  do  nothiu' 
in  the  way  o'  science.  It's  just  as  you  said^addressing  his 
remarks  to  Graspum, — Marston's  slackin'  out  his  conscience 
because  he  sees  how  things  are  goin'  down  hill  with  him. 
If  that  old  hoss  cholera  don't  clar  off  the  nigger  property, 
I'm  no  prophet.  It'll  carry  'em  into  glory ;  and  glory,  I 
reckon,  isn't  what  you  calls  good  pay,  eh,  Graspum  ?  I 
overheard  his  intentions  :  he  sees  the  black  page  before  him ; 
it  troubles  the  chicken  part  of  his  heart.  Peels  mighty 
meek  and  gentle  all  at  once;  and,  it's  no  lie,  he  begins  to' 
see  sin  in  what  he  has  done ;  and  to  make  repentance  good 
he's  goin'  to  shove  off  that  nabob  stock  of  his,  so  the 
creditors  can't  lay  paws  upon  it.  Te  got  to  spring;  Marston 
'11  get  ahead  of  ye  if  he  don't,  old  feller.  This  child  '11 
show  him  how  he  can't  cum  some  o'  them  things  while 
Squire  Hobble  and  I'm  on  hand."  Thus  quaintly  he  speaks, 
pulling  the  bill  of  sale  from  a  side-pocket,  throwing  it  upon 
the  table  with  an  air  of  satisfaction  amounting  to  exultation. 
"  Take  that  ar ;  put  it  where  ye  can  put  yer  finger  on't 
when  the  'mergency  comes."  And  he  smiles  to  see  how 
gratefully  and  anxiously  Graspum  receives  it,  reviews  it, 
re-reviews  it, — how  it  excites  the  joy  of  his  nature.  He 
has  no  soul  beyond  the  love  of  gold,  and  the  system  of  his 
bloody  trade.  It  was  that  fatal  instrument,  great  in  the 
atmosphere  of  ungrateful  law,  bending  some  of  nature's 
noblest  beneath  its  seal  of  crimes.  "  It's  from  Silenua  to 


106  WHO  18  SAFE  AGAINST  THE  POWER? 

Marston ;  rather  old,  but  just  the  thing !  Ah,  you're  a 
valuable  fellow,  Anthony."  Mr.  Q-raspuin  manifests  his 
approbation  by  certain  smiles,  grimaces,  and  shakes  of  the 
hand,  while  word  by  word  he  reads  it,  as  if  eagerly  relishing 
its  worth.  "  It's  a  little  thing  for  a  great  purpose ;  it'll 
tell  a  tale  in  its  time;"  and  he  puts  the  precious  scrip 
safely  in  his  pocket,  and  rubbing  his  hands  together,  declares 
"  that  deserves  a  bumper !"  They  fill  up  at  Graspum's 
request,  drink  with  social  cheers,  followed  by  a  song  from 
Nimrod.  who  pitches  his  tune  to  the  words,  "  Come,  laud- 
lord,  fill  the  flowing  bowl." 

Nimrod  finishes  his  song :  Komescos  takes  the  floor  to 
tell  a  story  about  the  old  judge  what  hung  the  nigger  a'cos 
he  didn't  want  to  spend  his  patience  listening  to  the  testi 
mony,  and  adjourned  the  court  to  go  and  take  a  drink  at 
Sal  Stiles's  grocery.  His  description  of  the  court,  its  high 
jurisdiction,  the  dignity  of  the  squire  what  sits  as  judge, 
now  he  drinks  the  three  jurymen — freeholders — what  are 
going  to  try  a  nigger,  how  they  goes  out  and  takes  three 
drinks  when  the  case  gets  about  half  way  through,  how  the 
nigger  winks  and  blinks  when  he  sees  the  jury  drunk,  and 
hears  the  judge  say  there's  only  two  things  he  likes  to 
hang, — niggers  and  schoolmasters.  But  as  it's  no  harm  to 
kill  schoolmasters — speaking  in  a  southern  sense  —  so 
E/omescos  thinks  the  squire  who  got  the  jury  inebriated 
afore  he  sent  the  "nigger"  to  be  hung  doesn't  mean  the 
least  harm  when  he  evinces  an  abhorrence  to  the  whole  clan 
of  schoolmaster  trash.  He  turns  to  the  old  story  of  doing 
everything  by  system ;  ends  by  describing  his  method  of 
drinking  a  whole  jury.  He  has  surprised  Marston,  got  him 
on  the  hip,  where  he  can  feather  him  or  sciver  him,  and 
where  things  must,  be  done  sly.  Public  opinion,  he  whispers, 
may  set  folks  moving,  and  then  they'll  all  be  down  upon 
him  like  hawks  after  chickens.  In  his  mind,  the  feller  what 
pulls  first  comes  off  first  best — if  the  law  hounds  are  not 
uo  soon  let  loose!  If  they  are,  there  will  be  a  long  drag, 
a  small  cage  for  the  flock,  and  very  few  birds  with  feathers 
on.  B/omescos  cares  for  nobody  but  the  judge :  he  tells  us 
how  the  judge  and  he  are  right  good  cronies,  and  how  it  s 
telling  a  good  many  dollars  at  the  end  of  the  year  to  keep 
on  the  best  of  terms  with  him,  always  taking  him  to  drink 
when  they  meet.  The  judge  is  a  wonderfully  clever  fellow,  ia 


WHO  IS  SA1MS  AGAINST  THE  POWER?  t07 

Eomescos'  opinion ;  ranks  among  first-class  drinkers ;  can 
do  most  anything,  from  hanging  a  nigger  to  clearing  the 
fellow  that  killed  the  schoolmaster,  and  said  he'd  clear  a 
dozen  in  two  two's,  if  they'd  kill  off  ever  so  many  of  the  rubbish. 
It  is  well  to  make  his  favour  a  point  of  interest.  The  com 
pany  are  become  tired  of  this  sort  of  cantation ;  they  have 
heard  enough  of  high  functionaries,  know  quite  enough  of 
judges : — such  things  are  in  their  line  of  business.  Eomescos 
must  needs  turn  the  conversation.  "  Well,  taking  it  how 
I  can  entertain  ye  to  most  anything,  I'll  give  ye  a  story  on 
the  secrets  of  how  I  used  to  run  off"  Ingin  remnants  of 
the  old  tribes.  'Taint  but  a  few  years  ago,  ye  know,  when 
ther  was  a  lot  of  Ingin  and  white,  mixed  stuif— some  called 
it  beautiful— down  in  Beaufort  district.  It  was  temptin' 
though,  I  reckon,  and  made  a  feller  feel  just  as  if  he  was 
runnin'  it  off  to  sell,  every  time  it  come  in  his  way.  Ye 
see,  most  on't  was  gal  property,  and  that  kind,  oilers  keeps 
the  whole  district  in  a  hubbub ;  everybody's  offended,  and 
there's  so  much  delicacy  about  the  ladies  what  come  in  con 
tact  with  it.  Yes,  gentlemen !  the  ladies — I  means  the 
aristocracy's  ladies — -hate  these  copper-coloured  Ingins  as 
they  would  female  devils.  It  didn't  do  to  offend  the  delicacy 
of  our  ladies,  ye  see ;  so  something  must  be  done,  but  it 
was  all  for  charity's  sake.  Squire  Hornblower  and  me  fixes 
a  plan  a'tween  us  :  it  was  just  the  plan  to  do  good  for  the 
town — we  must  always  be  kind,  ye  know,  and  try  to  do 
good — and  save  the  dear  good  ladies  a  great  deal  of  un 
necessary  pain. 

"  Now,  the  squire  had  law  larnin',  and  I  had  cunnin' ; 
and  both  put  together  made  the  thing  work  to  a  point. 
The  scheme  worked  so  nicely  that  we  put  twelve  out  of 
fifteen  of  'em  right  into  pocket-money  in  less  than  three 
years — " 

"  Hold  a  second,  Eomescos  ;  how  did  you  play  the  game 
so  adroitly,  when  they  were  all  members  of  families  living  in 
the  town  ?  You're  a  remarkable  fellow,"  Grraspum  inter 
poses,  stretching  his  arms,  and  twisting  his  sturdy  figure 
over  the  side  of  his  chair. 

"  That's  what  I  was   coming  at.     Ye  see,  whenever  ye 

makes  white  trash  what  ain't  slaved  a  nuisance,  you  makes 

it    mightily  unpopular ;  and   when  folks  is  unpopular  the 

nuisance  is  easily  removed,  especially  when  ye  can  get  pay 

8 


108  WHO  IS  SAFE  AGAINST  THE  POWER  ? 

for  removing  it.  The  law  will  be  as  tame  as  a  mouse — 
nobody  '11  say  nothin'  ?  Ingin  and  white  rubbish  is  just 
alike*— one's  worth  as  little  as  t'other.  Both's  only  fit  to 
sell,  sir! — worthless  for  any  other  purpose.  Ye  see, 
gentlemen,  I'm  something  of  a  philosopher,  and  has  strong 
faith  in  the  doctrine  of  our  popular  governor,  who  believes 
it  better  to  sell  all  poor  whites  into  slavery.  'Tain't  a  free 
country  where  ye  don't  have  the  right  to  sell  folks  what 
don't  provide  for  number  one.  I  likes  to  hear  our  big  folks 
talk  so-- Anthony's  face  brightens — ''cause  it  gives  a  feller 
a  chance  for  a  free  speculation  in  them  lank,  lean  rascals  ; 
and,  too,  it  would  stop  their  rifle-shooting  and  corn- 
Btealing — " 

"  You  never  try  your  hand  at  such  hits — do  you, 
Nathe?"  Bengal  interrupts,  his  fore-finger  poised  on  his  nose. 

"Now,  Dan,"  Anthony  quaintly  replies,  "none  o'  yer 
pointed  insinuations.  'Twouldn't  be  much  harm  if  the 
varmin  would  only  keep  its  mouth  shut  along  the  road. 
But  when  the  critturs  ar'  got  schoolmaster  gumption  it's 
mighty  apt  to  get  a  feller  into  a  tarnation  snarl.  School 
master  gumption  makes  d d  bad  niggers ;  and  there's 

why  I  say  it's  best  to  hang  schoolmasters.  It's  dangerous, 
'cos  it  larns  the  critturs  to  writin'  a  scrawl  now  and  then  ; 
and,  unless  ye  knows  just  how  much  talent  he's  got,  and 
can  whitewash  him  yaller,  it's  plaguy  ticklish.  When  the 
brutes  have  larnin1,  and  can  write  a  little,  they  won't  stay 
sold  when  ye  sell  'em — that  is,  I  mean,  white  riff- raff  stuff; 
they  ain't  a  bit  like  niggers  and  Ingins.  And  there's  just 
as  much  difference  a'tween  the  human  natur  of  a  white 
nigger  and  a  poverty-bloated  white  as  there  is  a'twixt 
philosophy  and  water-melons." 

"You're  drawing  a  long  bow,  Anthony,"  interrupts 
Graspum,  with  a  suggestion  that  it  were  better  to  come  to 
the  point ;  and  concludes  by  saying :  "  We  don't  care 
seveupeuce  about  the  worthless  whites  all  over  the  State. 
They  can't  read  nor  write— except  a  few  on  'em — and  every 
body  knows  it  wouldn't  do  to  give  them  learning — that 
wouldn't  do  !  We  want  the  way  you  cleared  that  nuisance 
out  of  Beaufort  district  so  quick — that's  what  we  want  to 
hear." 

"  Well,  ye'h  sees,  it  took  some  keen  play,  some  sly  play, 
Bome  dignity,  and  some  talent ;  but  the  best  thing  of  the 


WHO  IS  SAFE  AGAINST  THE  POWER  ?  109 

whole  was  the  squire's  honour.  lie  :md  me,  ye  see,  joined 
partners — that  is,  he  gets  places  for  'em  away  out  o' 
town— you  understand —places  where  I  keeps  a  couple  of 
the  very  best  nags  that  ever  stepped  turf.  And  then  he 
puts  on  the  soft  sauder,  an'  is  so  friendly  to  the  critturs — 
— gets  'em  to  come  out  with  him  to  where  he  will  make  'urn 
nice  house  servants,  and  such  things.  He  is  good  at 
planin',  as  all  justices  is,  and  would  time  it  to  arrive  at 
midnight.  I,  havin'  got  a  start,  has  all  ready  to  meet  him  ; 
so  when  he  gives  me  the  papers,  I  makes  a  bolt  at  full 
speed,  and  has  'um  nowhere  afore  they  knows  it.  And 
then,  when  they  sees  who  it  is,  it  don't  do  to  make  a  fuss 
about  it — don't !  And  then,  they're  so  handsome,  it  ain't 
no  trouble  finding  a  market  for  'em  down  Memphis  way. 
It  only  takes  forty-eight  hours — the  way  things  is  done  up 
by  steam — from  the  time  I  clears  the  line  until  Timothy 
Portman  signs  the  bond — that's  five  per  cent,  for  him — 
and  JSTed  Sturm  does  the  swearin',  and  they're  sold  for  a 
slap-up  price — sent  to  where  there's  no  muttering  about 
it.  That's  one  way  we  does  it ;  and  then,  there's  another. 
But,  all  in  all,  there's  a  right  smart  lot  of  other  ways  that 
will  work  their  way  into  a  talented  mind.  And  when  a 
feller  gets  the  hang  on  it,  and  knows  lawyer  gumption,  he 
can  do  it  up  smooth.  You  must  strap  'em  down,  chain 
'em,  look  vengeance  at  'em ;  and  now  and  then,  when 
the  varmin  will  squeal,  spite  of  all  the  thrashin'  ye  can  give 
'em,  box  'em  up  like  rats,  and  put  yer  horses  like  Jehu 
until  ye  cl'ar  the  State.  The  more  ye  scars  'em  the  better 
— make  'em  as  whist  as  mice,  and  ye  can  run  'em  through 
the  rail-road,  and  sell  'um  just  as  easy. 

"  There  was  another  way  I  used  to  do  the  thing — it  was 
a  sort  of  an  honourable  way  ;  but  it  used  to  take  the  talents 
of  a  senator  to  do  it  up  square,  so  the  dignity  didn't  suffer. 
Then  the  gals  got  shy  of  squire,  'cos  them  he  got  places  for 
never  cum  back ;  and  I  know'd  how  'twas  best  to  leave  two 
or  three  for  a  nest-egg.  It  was  the  way  to  do,  in  case 
some  green  should  raise  a  fuss.  But  connected  with  these 
Ingin  gals  was  one  of  the  likleest  yaller  fellers  that  ever 
shined  on  a  stand.  Thar'  was  about  twelve  hundred 
dollars  in  him,  I  saw  it  just  as  straight,  and  felt  it  just  as 
safe  in  my  pocket;  and  then  it  made  a  feller's  eyes  glisten 
afore  it  was  got  out  of  him.  I  tell  you  what,  boys,  it's 


110  WHO  IS  SAFE  AGAINST  TliE  POW£ll  ? 

rather  hard  when  ye  comes  to  think  on't."  Anthony 
pauses  for  a  moment,  sharpens  his  eloquence  with  another 
drop  of  whiskey,  and  resumes  his  discourse.  "  The  feller  shined 
all  outside,  but  he  hadn't  head  talents— though  he  was  as 
cunuin'as  a  fox— and  every  timethe  squire  tried  an  experiment 
to  get  him  out  o' town,  the  nigger  would  dodge  like  a  wounded 
raccoon.  'Twarn't  a  bit  of  use  for  the  squire — so  he  just 
gin  it  up.  Then  I  trys  a  hand,  ye  see,  comes  the  soft  soap 
over  him,  in  a  Sam  Slick  kind  of  a  way.  I'se  a  private 
gentleman,  and  gets  the  fellers  round  to  call  me  a  sort  of 
an  aristocrat.  Doing  this  'ere  makes  me  a  nabob  in  the 
town — another  time  I'm  from  New  York,  and  has  monstrous 
letters  of  introduction  to  the  squire.  Then  I  goes  among 
the  niggers  and  comes  it  over  their  stupid ;  tells  'em  how 
I'm  an  abolitionist  in  a  kind  of  secret  way — gets  their  con 
fidence.  And  then  I  larns  a  right  smart  deal  of  sayings 
from  the  Bible— a  nigger's  curious  on  Christianity,  ye  see— 
and  it  makes  him  think  ye  belong  to  that  school,  sartin! 
All  the  deviltry  in  his  black  natur'  '11  cum  out  then ;  and 
he'll  do  just  what  ye  tells  him.  So,  ye  see,  I  just  draws 
the  pious  over  him,  and  then — like  all  niggers — I  gets 
him  to  jine  in  what  he  calculates  to  be  a  nice  little  bit  of 
roguery — running  off." 

Graspum  becomes  interested  in  the  fine  qualities  of  the  pro 
spective  property,  and  must  needs  ask  if  he  is  bright  and  trim. 
"  Bright !  I  reckon  he  warn't  nothin'  else  in  a  money 
sense — brighter  nor  most  niggers,  but  mighty  Inginy. 
Had  the  fierce  of  one  and  the  cunnin'  of  t'other.  Tom 
Pridgeou  and  me  has  an  understandin'  about  the  thing ; 
and  Tom's  such  a  ripper  for  tradin'  in  nigger  property — 
he  is  about  the  only  devil  niggers  can  imagine ;  and 
they  delight  to  play  tricks  on  Tom.  Well,  the  nigger  and 
nie's  good  friends,  right  to  the  point ;  a  good  trick  is  to 
be  played  off  on  Tom,  who  buys  the  nigger  in  confidence  ; 
the  nigger  is  to  run  off  when  he  gets  to  Savannah,  and  Tom 
is  to  be  indicted  for  running  off  '  free  niggers.'  I'se  a 
great  Christian,  and  joins  heart  and  hand  with  the  darkey  ; 
we  takes  our  walks  together,  reads  together,  prays  together. 
And  then  'tain't  long  afore  I  becomes  just  the  best  white 
man  in  his  estimation.  Knowing  when  Tom  makes  up  his 
gang,  I  proposes  a  walk  in  the  grove  to  the  nigger.  '  Thank 
ye,  sir,'  says  he,  in  an  Ingin  kind  of  way,  and  out  we  goes, 


WHO  IS  SAFE  AGAINST  THE  POWEB  ?  Ill 

sits  down,  talks  pious,  sings  hymns,  and  waits  to  see  the 
rascally  nigger-trader  come  along.  Presently  Tom  makes 
his  appearance,  with  a  right  smart  lot  of  extra  prime  pro 
perty.  The  nigger  and  me  marches  down  the  road  just 
like  master  and  servant,  and  stops  just  when  we  meets  Tom. 
You'd  laughed  to  see  Tom  and  me  do  the  stranger.  '  "Well, 
mister,'  says  I,  '  how's  trade  in  your  line  ? — there's  mighty 
good  prices  for  cotton  just  now;  an'  I  'spose  't  keeps  the 
market  stiff  up  in  your  lino ! ' 

'  Well,  no,'  says  Tom :  '  a  feller  can  turn  a  good  penny 
in  the  way  o'  fancy  articles,  just  now  ;  but  'tain't  the  time 
for  prime  plantation-stock.  Planters  are  all  buying,  and 
breeders  down  Virginia  way  won't  give  a  feller  a  chance  to 
make  a  shaving.  It  drives  a  feller  hard  up,  ye  see,  and 
forces  more  business  in  running  the  free  'uns.' 

'  Why,  stranger !  what  on  'arth  do  you  mean  by  that  'ar ; 
— wouldn't  ye  get  straightened  if  you'd  git  catched  at  that 
business  ? ' 

'  Oh,  nothing,  nothing !  I  forgot  what  I  was  saying,' 
says  Tom,  just  as  if  he  was  scared  at  what  he  had 
let  slip. 

'  I  say,  trader,  ye  got  the  brightest  assortment  of  pro 
perty  thar'  I  seen  for  many  a  day  :  you  don't  call  them  gals 
slaves,  do  you  ?  Down  where  1  cum  from,  our  folks 
wouldn't  know  'em  from  white  folks.'  I  tell  you,  boys, 
he  had  some  bits  that  would  o*  made  yer  heart  cum 
straight  up. 

'  But  I  say,  mister,  I  kind  'a  like  yer  horse  property — 
somehow  he's  full  blood,'  says  I. 

'  Yes,'  says  Tom  ;  '  he's  one  o'  the  best  critturs  to  drive 
niggers  with  that  ye  ever  did  see  ;  and  he's  beat  the  best  horse 
on  the  Columbia  course,  twice.' 

'  Well,  now ;  seein'  how  I  likes  the  animal,  about  how 
much  do  ye'h  set  him  at  ?'  says  1. 

'  Well !  can't  part  with  the  nag  nohow ;  seems  as 
if  he  knowed  a  nigger,  and  understands  the  business 
right  up.' 

*  But,  you  see,  I'se  got  a  bit  of  nigger  property  here 
what  ye'h  don't  pick  up  every  day  for  the  Memphis  trade,' 
says  I,  looking  at  the  feller,  who  played  his  part  right  up  to 
the  hilt. 


112  WHO  IS  SAFE  AGAINST  THE  POWER  1 

'  "Well,  I  don't  mind  strikin'  a  trade,'  says  Tom :  '  but 
you  see  my  nag's  worth  a  little  risin'  a  thousand  dollars.' 

'  I  don't  doubt  that,  stranger,'  says  I :  '  but  ye'h  sees  this 
'ar  piece  of  property  o'  mine  is  worth  more  'an  twelve 
hundred.  You  don't  come  across  such  a  looking  chap  every 
day.  There's  a  spec,  in  him,  in  any  market  down  south,' 
says  I ;  and  I  puts  my  hands  on  the  nigger  and  makes  him 
show  out,  just  as  if  Tom  and  me  was  striking  for  a  trade. 
So  Tom  examines  him,  as  if  he  was  green  in  nigger 
business,  and  he  and  me  strangers  just  come  from  t'other 
side  of  moon  shadows. 

'  Well,  now,'  says  Tom,  '  it's  mighty  likely  property,  and 
seeing  it's  you,  jist  name  a  trade.' 

'  Put  down  the  nag  and  two  hundred  dollars,  and  I'll 
sign  the  bill  of  sale,  for  a  swap.'  And  Tom  plants  down 
the  dimes,  and  takes  the  nigger.  When  Tom  gets  him 
to  Savannah,  he  plunks  him  into  jail,  and  keeps  him 
locked  up  in  a  cell  until  he  is  ready  to  start  south.  I 
promises  the  nigger  half  of  the  spiles  ;  but  I  slips  an  X* 
into  his  hand,  and  promises  him  the  rest  when  he  gets 
back — when  he  does  !  And  ye  see  how  Tom  just  tryced  him 
up  to  the  cross  and  put  thirty-nine  to  his  bare  skin  when 
he  talked  about  being  free,  in  Savannah ;  and  gagged  him 
when  he  got  his  Ingin  up.  Warn't  that  doing  the  thing  up 
slick,  fellers  ? "  exclaimed  Homescos,  chuckling  over  the 
sport. 

"  It  warn't  nothing  else.  That's  what  I  calls  catching  a 
nigger  in  his  own  trap,"  said  one.  "  That's  sarviu'  him 
right ;  I  go  for  sellin'  all  niggers  and  Ingins,"  said  another. 
"  Free  niggers  have  no  souls,  and  are  impediments  to 
personal  rights  in  a  free  country,"  said  a  third. 

"  Ye'h  see,  there's  such  an  infernal  lot  of  loose  corners 
about  our  business,  that  it  takes  a  feller  what  has  got  a  big 
head  to  do  all  the  things  smooth,  in  a  legal  way  ;  and  it's 
so  profitable  all  round  that  it  kind  o'  tempts  a  feller,  once  in 
a  while,  to  do  things  he  don't  feel  just  right  in  ;  but  then  a 
glass  of  old  monongahela  brings  ye'h  all  straight  in  yer 
feelins  again,  a'ter  a  few  minutes,"  said  Ilomescos. 

"  It's  an  amusing  business ;  a  man's  got  to  have  nerve  and 

*  Ten  dollars. 


WHO  IS  SAFE  AGAINST  THE  POWER  ?  113 

maxim,  if  he  wants  to  make  a  fortune  at  it.  But — now, 
gentlemen,  we'll  take  another  round,"  said  Graspum, 
stopping  short.  "  Anthony,  tell  us  how  you  work  it  when 
you  want  to  run  a  free  nigger  down  Maryland  way." 

"  There  ain't  no  trouble  about  that,"  replied  Romcscos, 
quickly.  "  You  see,"  he  continued,  squinting  his  eye,  and 
holding  his  glass  between  his  face  and  the  light.  "  Shut 
out  all  hope  first,  and  then  prime  legal  gentlemen  along  the 
road,  and  yer  sartin  to  make  safe  business.  I  has  chaps 
what  keeps  their  eye  on  all  the  free  bits,  and  makes  good 
fellers  with  'em ;  niggers  think  they'r  the  right  stripe 
friends ;  and  then  they  gives  'em  jobs  once  in  a  while,  and 
tobacco,  and  whiskey.  So  when  I  gets  all  fixed  for  a  run, 
some  on  'm  gets  the  nigger  into  a  sly  spot,  and  then  we 
pounces  upon  him  like  a  hawk  on  a  chicken — gags  him,  and 
screws  him  up  in  the  chains,  head  and  feet, — boxes  him  up, 
too,  and  drives  him  like  lightning  until  I  meets  Tilman  at 
the  cross-roads ;  and  then  1  just  has  a  document  *  all  ready, ' 
which  I  gives  to  Till.,  and  he  puts  his  nags  in — a  pair  what 
can  take  the  road  from  anything  about — and  the  way  he 
drives,  just  to  make  the  nigger  forget  where  he's  going, 
and  think  he's  riding  in  a  balloon  on  his  way  to  glory. 
Just  afore  Til.  gets  to  the  boat,  ye  see,  he  takes  the  head- 
chains  off — so  the  delicate-hearted  passengers  won't  let 
their  feelins  get  kind-a  out  o'  sorts.  Once  in  a  while  the 
nigger  makes  a  blubber  about  being  free,  to  the  captain, — 
and  if  he's  fool  enough  t'  take  any  notice  on't  then  there's 
a  fuss ;  but  that's  just  the  easiest  thing  to  get  over,  if  ye 
only  know  the  squire,  and  how  to  manage  him.  You  must 
know  the  pirites  of  the  law,  and  ye  must  do  the  clean  thing 
in  the  '  tin '  way  with  the  squire  ;  and  then  ye  can  cut  'em 
right  off  by  makin'  t'other  pintes  make  'em  mean  nothing. 
Once  in  a  while  t'll  do  to  make  the  nigger  a  criminal,  and 
"then  there's  no  trouble  in't,  'cos  ye  canollersgit  the  swearin' 
done  cheap.  Old  Captain  Smith  used  to  get  himself  into 
a  scrape  a  heap  o'  times  by  listenin'  to  free  nigger  stories, 
till  he  gets  sick  and  would  kick  every  nigger  what  came  to 
him  about  being  free.  He  takes  the  law  in  his  hands  with 
a  nigger  o'  mine  once,  and  hands  him  over  to  a  city  police 
man,  as  soon  as  we  lands.  He  didn't  understand  the  thing, 

*  A  forged  bill  of  sale. 

1 


114  WHO  IS  SAFE  AGAINST  THE  POWER  1 

ye  see,  and  I  jist  puts  an  X  *  into  the  pole's  hand,  what  he 
takes  the  hint  at.  'Now,  ye'll  take  good  care  on  the 
feller,"  says  I,  giving  him  a  wink.  And  he  just  keeps 
broad  off  from  the  old  hard-faced  mayor,  and  runs  up  to  the 
squire's,  who  commits  him  on  his  own  commit timus.  Then 
I  gets  Bob  Blanker  to  stand  '  all  right '  with  the  squire, 
who's  got  all  the  say  in  the  matter,  when  it's  done  so. 
I  cuts  like  lightenin'  on  to  far  down  Mississippi,  and  there 
gets  Sam  Slang,  just  one  o'  the  keenest  fellers  in  that  line, 
about.  Sam's  a  hotel-keeper  all  at  once,  and  I  gets  him 
up  afore  the  Mississippi  squire ;  and  as  Sam  don't  think 
much  about  the  swearin'  and  the  squire  ain't  particular,  so 
he  makes  a  Jive :  we  proves  straight  off  how  the  crittur's 
Sam's  runaway,  gets  the  dockerment  and  sends  to  Bob 
Blanker,  who  puts  a  blinder  on  the  squire's  eye,  and  gets 
an  order  to  the  old  jailor,  who  must  give  him  up,  when  he 
sees  the  squire's  order.  You  see,  it's  larnin'  the  secret, 
that's  the  thing,  and  the  difference  between  common  law 
and  nigger  law ;  and  the  way  to  work  the  matter  so  the 
squire  will  have  it  all  in  his  own  fingers,  and  don't  let  the 
old  judge  get  a  pick.  Squire  makes  it  square,  hands  the 
nigger  over  to  Bob,  Bob  puts  fifty  cuts  on  his  hide,  makes 
him  as  clever  as  a  kitten,  and  ships  him  off  down  south 
afore  he  has  time  to  wink.  Then,  ye  sees,  I  goes  back  as 
independent  as  a  senator  from  Arkansas,  and  sues  Captain 
Smith  for  damages  in  detainin'  the  property,  and  I  makes 
him  pay  a  right  round  sum,  what  larns  him  never  to  try 
that  agin." 

Thus  Eomescos  concludes  the  details  of  his  nefarious 
trade,  amid  cheers  and  bravos.  The  party  are  in  ecstasies, 
evincing  a  singular  merriment  at  the  issue.  There  is 
nothing  like  liberty — liberty  to  do  what  you  please,  to  turn 
freedom  into  barbarity  !  They  gloat  over  the  privileges  of  a 
free  country ;  and,  as  Eomescos  recounts  each  proceeding, 
— tracing  it  into  the  lowest  depths  of  human  villainy,  they 
sing  songs  to  right,  justice,  freedom — they  praise  the 
bounties  of  a  great  country.  How  different  is  the  picture 
below !  Beneath  this  plotting  conclave,  devising  schemes 
to  defraud  human  nature  of  its  rights,  to  bring  poverty  and 
disgrace  upon  happy  families — all  in  accordance  with  the 

*  Ter  dollars. 


WHO  IS  SAFE  AGAINST  THE  POWER.  115 

law — are  chained  in  narrow  cells  poor  mortals,  hoping  for 
an  end  to  their  dreary  existence,  pining  under  the  weight  of 
pinions  dashing  their  very  souls  into  endless  despair.  A 
tale  of  freedom  is  being  told  above,  but  their  chains  of 
death  clank  in  solemn  music  as  the  midnight  revelry  sports 
with  the  very  agony  of  their  sorrows.  Oh  !  who  has  made  their 
.lives  a  wanton  jest  ? — can  it  be  the  will  of  heaven,  or  is 
it  the  birthright  of  a  downtrodden  race  ?  They  look  for 
tc -morrow,  hope  reverberates  one  happy  thought,  it  may 
bring  some  tidings  of  joy;  but  again  they  sink,  as  that  end 
less  gloom  rises  before  them.  Hope  fades  from  their 
feelings,  from  the  bleeding  heart  for  which  compassion  is 
dead.  The  tyrant's  heart  is  of  stone ;  what  cares  he  for 
their  supplications,  their  cries,  their  pleadings  to  heaven ; 
such  things  have  no  dollars  for  him ! 

Arranging  the  preliminaries  necessary  for  proceeding 
with  Marston's  affairs,  they  agreed  to  the  plans,  received 
orders  from  Grraspum  in  reference  to  their  proceedings  on 
the  following  day,  and  retired  to  their  homes,  singing  praises 
to  great  good  laws,  and  the  freedom  of  a  free  country. 


CHAPTER  X. 

ANOTHER  SHADE  OF  THE  PICTURE. 

WHILE  the  proceedings  we  have  detailed  in  the  foregoing 
chapter  were  progressing  at  G-raspum's  slave-pen,  a  different 
phase  of  the  system  was  being  discussed  by  several  persons 
who  had  assembled  at  the  house  of  Deacon  Rosebrook. 
Rumour  had  been  busy  spreading  its  many-sided  tales 
about  Marston — his  difficulties,  his  connection  with 
Graspum,  his  sudden  downfall.  All  agreed  that  Marston 
was  a  noble-minded  fellow,  generous  to  a  fault — generous 
in  his  worst  errors;  and,  like  rr.any  other  southerners,  who 
meant  well,  though  personally  kind  to  his  slaves,  never  set 
a  good,  example  in  his  own  person.  Religion  was  indis 
pensably  necessary  to  preserve  submission  ;  and,  with  a  view 
to  that  end,  he  had  made  the  Church  a  means  of  producing  it. 

Now,  if  the  southerner  resorted  to  the  Church  in  the 
purity  of  Christian  motives,  he  would  merit  that  praise 
which  many  are  so  willing  to  bestow.  Or,  if  Christianity 
were  embraced  by  the  southerner  with  heartfelt  purity  and 
faith,  it  would  undoubtedly  have  a  beneficial  influence, 
elevate  the  character  of  the  slave,  promote  kindly  feelings 
between  him  and  his  master,  and  ultimately  prove  profitable 
to  both.  But  where  Christianity,  used  by  irreligious 
persons,  whose  very  acts  destroy  the  vitality  of  the  means, 
is  made  the  medium  of  enforcing  superstition,  and  of  debasing 
the  mind  of  the  person  it  degrades  into  submission,  its 
application  becomes  nothing  less  than  criminal.  It  is 
criminal  because  it  brings  true  religion  into  contempt,  per 
verts  Christianity — makes  it  a  mockery,  and  gives  to  the  de 
graded  whites  of  the  South  a  plea  for  discarding  its  precepts. 
Religion— were  it  not  used  as  a  mechanical  agency— would 
elevate  the  degraded  white  population  of  the  South ;  they 
would,  through  its  influence,  become  valuable  citizens. 

These  remarks  have  been  forced  upon  us  by  observation. 
Frequently  have  we  lamented  its  application,  and  grieved 
that  its  holy  mission  were  made  to  serve  the  vilest  pur- 


ANOTHER  SHADE  OF  THE  PICTURE.  117 

poses  in  a   land   of  liberty,  of  Christian  love.     Religion  a 
means  of  degrading  the  masses—  a  subservient  agent !     It  is 
so,  nevertheless  ;  and  men  use  it  whose  only  desire  it  is  to 
makeit  serve  a  property  interest — the  interest  of  making  men, 
women,  and  children,  more  valuable  in  the  market.     Gfod 
ordained  it  for  a  higher  purpose, — man  applies  it  for  his 
benefit  in  the  man-market.      Hence,  where  the  means  for 
exercising  the  mind  upon   the  right   is   forbidden — where 
ignorance  becomes  the  necessary  part  of  the  maintenance  of 
a   system,   and  religion  is  applied  to  that  end,  it  becomes 
farcical ;  and  while  it  must  combine  all  the  imperfections 
of  the  performer,  necessarily  tends  to  confine  the  ignorance 
of  those  it  seeks  to  degrade,  within  the  narrowest  boundary. 
There  are  different  ways  of  destroying  the  rights  of  different 
classes  ;  and  as  many  different  ways,  after  they  are  destroyed, 
of   wiping   out   the  knowledge  of  their   ever   having   had 
rights.     But,  we  regret  to  say,  that  most  resorted  to  by*  the 
South,  in   the  lace  of  civilisation,   is  the  Holy  Scriptures, 
which  are  made  the  medium  of  blotting  out  all  knowledge 
of  the   rights  a   people  once  possessed.      The  wrong- doer 
thus  fears  the  result  of  natural  laws  ;  if  they  be  allowed   to 
produce  results  through  the  cultivation  of  a  slave's  mind, 
such  may  prove  fatal  to  his    immediate  interests.     And  to 
maintain  a  system  which  is  based  on   force,  the  southern 
minister   of  the  gospel  is    doubly  culpable  in  the  sight  of 
heaven ;  for  while  he  stimulates  ignorance  by  degrading  the 
man,  he  mystifies  the  Word  of  Grod,  that  he   may  remain 
for  ever  and  ever  degraded. 

What  a  deplorable  process  of  stealing — nay,  gently  taking 
away  the  knowledge  which  an  all-wise  Providence  has  given 
to  man  as  his  inheritance ;  how  it  reduces  his  natural 
immunities  to  sensual  misery  !  And,  too,  it  forbids  all  legiti 
mate  influences  that  could  possibly  give  the  menial  a  link 
to  elevation,  to  the  formation  of  a  society  of  his  own.  We 
would  fain  shrink  from  such  a  system  of  debasing  mankind 
— even  more,  from  the  hideous  crimes  of  those  who  would 
make  Scripture  the  means  to  such  an  end.  And  yet,  the 
Church  defender  of  slavery — the  Christian  little  one — his 
neck-cloth  as  white  as  the  crimes  he  defends  are  black- 
must  distinguish  his  arguments ;  and  that  the  world  may 
not  suspect  his  devotion,  hia  honesty,  his  serious  intention, 
he  points  us  to  the  many  blessings  of  the  plantation-service. 


118  ANOTHER  SHADE  OF  THE  PICTURE. 

Heavenly  divinity  !  Let  us  Lave  faitli  in  the  little  ones 
sent  to  teach  it ;  they  tell  us  slavery  enforces  Christianity  ! 
The  management  of  ignorance  under  the  direction  of 
ministers  of  the  gospel  is  certainly  becoming  well-defined  ; 
while  statesmen  more  energetically  legalise  it.  The  one 
devises,  the  other  carries  out  a  law  to  make  man  ignorant 
of  everything  but  labour.  But  while  the  statesman  moulds 
the  theory,  the  preacher  manufactures  Scripture  texts,  that 
the  menial  may  believe  God  has  ordained  him  the  pliable 
victim. 

Under    the    apparent    necessity   of    the    slave    world, 
Marston  had  regularly  paid  Elder  Pemberton  Praiseworthy 
for   preaching    to   his  property  on    Sundays ;  and  to   the 
requisite  end  the  good  Elder  felt  himself  in  duty  bound  to 
inculcate  humility  in  all  things  that  would   promote  obe 
dience   to  a   master's  will.      Of  course,  one   sermon  was 
quitg    sufficient;    and    this    the    credulous   property  Tiad 
listened  to   for   more  than  three   years.     The  effect   was 
entirely   satisfactory,    the    result    being   that  the  honest 
property  were  really  impressed  with  a  belief,  that  to  evince 
Christian  fortitude  under  suffering  and  punishment  was  the 
best  means  of  cleansing  themselves  of  the  sins  they  were 
born  to.     This   formality  was  misnamed    Christianity — it 
•was  !     And  through  the  force  of  this  one  sermon  the  Elder 
became  indolent ;  and  indolence  led  him  to  its  natural  yoke 
fellow — intemperance.     His  indulgent  moods,  such  as  we 
have  described  him  enjoying  in  a  previous  chapter,  became 
too  frequent,  leading  to  serious  annoyances.    They  had  been 
especially   serious  for  Marston,   whom,  they  placed  in  an 
awkward  situation  before  his  property,  and  he  resolved  to 
tolerate  them  no  longer.      Probably   this   resolution   was 
hastened  by  the  sudden  discovery  of  Harry's  singular  know 
ledge  of  Scripture ;  be  that  as  it  may,  the  only  difficulty 
in  the  way  was  to  know  if  Harry  could  be  so  trained,  that 
he  would  preach  the  "  right  stripe  "   doctrine.     This,  how 
ever,  was  soon   settled,  and  Marston  not  only  suspended 
his  engagement  with  the  Elder,  but  entered  into  a  contract 
with  the  neighbouring   planters,   by   the   terms   of  which 
Harry   will  fill    their   pulpit,    and  preach  extemport — the 
Elder   has    brought   written  sermons   into  contempt  with 
Harry — at    a   stipulated  price   per  Sunday.     In  this  new 
avocation — this   leap    from   the  plantation    to    the    pulpit, 


ROSEBROOK  VILLA. 

•Two  years  have  passed — how  changed!'' 


ANOTHER  SHADE  OF  THE  PICTURE.  119 

Harry,  as  a  piece  of  property,  became  extremely  valuable; 
•while,  through  the  charm  of  his  new  black  coat,  he  rose  a 
great  man  in  the  estimation  of  the  common  property.  Here 
was  a  valuable  incentive  of  submission,  a  lesson  for  all  bad 
niggers,  a  chance  for  them  to  improve  under  the  peculiar 
institution.  It  proved  to  niggerdom  what  a  good  nigger 
could  be  if  he  only  fear  G-od  and  obey  his  master  in  all 
things. 

Here  was  proof  that  a  nigger  could  be  something  more 
than  a  nigger,  in  spite  of  southern  philosophy.  The  Elder — 
good,  pious  man  that  he  was — found  himself  out  of  pocket 
and  out  of  preaching.  Thrown  upon  the  resources  of  his 
ingenuity,  he  had,  in  order  to  save  the  dictates  of  his 
conscience,  while  taking  advantage  of  the  many  opportuni 
ties  of  making  money  afforded  by  the  peculiar  institution, 
entered  upon  another  branch  of  business,  having  for  its 
object  the  advancement  of  humanity.  He  resolved  to  go 
forth  purchasing  the  sick  and  the  dying ;  to  reclaim  sinking 
humanity  and  make  it  marketable. 

But,  before  describing  the  vicissitudes  through  which 
Elder  Pemberton  Praiseworthy  passes  in  his  new  mission  of 
humanity,  we  must  introduce  the  reader  to  the  precincts  of 
a  neat  little  villa,  situated  at  the  outskirts  of  the  city  of 

C .     It  is  a  small  cottage  surrounded  with  verandas 

and  trellis-work,  over  which  are  creeping  numerous  wood 
bines  and  multafloras,  spreading  their  fragrant  blossoms, 
giving  it  an  air  of  sequestered  beauty.  An  arbour  of  grape 
vines  extends  from  a  little  portico  at  the  front  to  a  wicker 
fence  that  separates  the  embankment  of  a  well-arranged 
garden,  in  which  are  pots  of  rare  plants,  beds  and  walks 
decorated  with  flowers,  presenting  great  care  and  taste. 
A  few  paces  in  the  rear  of  the  cottage  are  several  "  negro 
cabins"  nicely  white- washed  without,  and  an  air  of  cheerful 
ness  and  comfort  reigning  within.  The  hcmse-servants  are 
trimly  dressed  ;  they  look  and  act  as  if  their  thoughts  and 
affections  were  with  "mas'r  and  missus."  Their  white 
aprons  and  clean  bright  frocks — some  bombazine,  and  some 
gingham — give  them  an  appearance  of  exactness,  which, 
whether  it  be  voluntary  or  force  of  discipline,  bears  evidence 
of  attention  in  the  slave,  and  encouragement  on  the  part  of 
the  master.  This  is  the  Villa  of  Deacon  JJosebrook;  they 
call  him  deacon,  by  courtesy;  in  the  same  sense  that  Q-eorgia 


120  ANOTHEB  8HA.DB  OF  THE  PICTUKE. 

majors  and  South  Carolina  generals  are  honoured  with  those 
far-famed  titles  which  so  distinguish  them  when  abroad. 
Perhaps  we  should  be  doing  the  deacon  no  more  than 
justice  if  we  were  to  admit  that  he  had  preached  in  very 
respectable  spheres  ;  but,  feeling  that  he  was  wanting  in  the 
purity  of  divine  love — that  he  could  not  do  justice  to  his 
conscience  while  setting  forth  teachings  he  did  not  follow, 
he  laid  the  profession  aside  for  the  more  genial  associations 
of  plantation  life.  Indeed,  he  was  what  many  called  a  very 
easy  backslider ;  and  at  times  was  recognised  by  the  some 
what  singular  soubriquet  of  Deacon  Pious-proof.  But  he 
was  kind  to  his  slaves,  and  had  projected  a  system  singu 
larly  at  variance  with  that  of  his  neighbours — a  system  of 
mildness,  amelioration,  freedom. 

His  plantation,  a  small  one,  some  few  miles  from  the 
Villa,  presented  the  same  neatness  and  comfort,  the 
same  cheerfulness  among  the  negroes,  and  the  same  kindly 
feeling  between  master  and  slave,  which  characterised  the 
Villa. 

We  enter  a  neatly-furnished  parlour,  where  the  deacon 
and  a  friend  are  seated  on  a  sofa ;  various  pictures  are 
suspended  from  the  wall, — everything  betokens  New  Eng 
land  neatness.  The  old-fashioned  dog-irons  and  fender 
are  polished  to  exquisitebrightness,  a  Brussels  carpet  spreads 
the  floor,  a  bright  surbase  encircles  the  room  ;  upon  the 
flossy  hearth-rug  lies  crouched  the  little  canine  pet,  which 
Aunt  Dolly  has  washed  to  snowy  whiteness.  Aunt  Dolly 
enters  the  room  with  a  low  curtsy,  gently  raises  the 
poodle,  then  lays  him  down  as  carefully  as  if  he  were  an 
heir  to  the  estate.  Master  is  happy,  "  missus"  is  happy, 
and  Aunt  Dolly  is  happy ;  and  the  large  bookcase,  filled 
with  well-selected  volumes,  adds  to  the  air  of  contentment 
everywhere  apparent.  In  a  niche  stands  a  large  pier-table, 
upon  which  are  sundry  volumes  with  gilt  edges,  nets 
of  crosa-work,  porcelain  ornaments,  and  card-cases  inlaid 
with  mosaic.  Antique  tables  with  massive  carved  feet,  in 
imitation  of  lions'  paws,  chairs  of  curious  patterns,  reclines 
and  ottomans  of  softest  material,  and  covered  with  satin 
damask,  are  arranged  round  the  room  in  harmony  and 
good  taste. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Scranton,"  the  deacon  says  to  his  friend,  who 
is  a  tall,  prim,  sedate-looking  man,  apparently  about  forty, 


AJTOTHEK  SHADE  OF  THE  PICTURE.  121 

"  I  pity  Marstcm  ;  I  pity  him  because  he  is  a  noble-hearted 
fellow.  But,  after  all,  this  whispering  about  the  city  may 
be  only  mother  Rumour  distributing  her  false  tales.  Let 
us  hope  it  is  all  rumour  and  scandal.  Come,  tell  me — what 
do  you  think  of  our  negroes  ?" 

"  Nigger  character  has  not  changed  a  bit  in  my  mind, 
since  I  came  south.  Inferior  race  of  mortals,  sir! — without 
principles,  and  fit  only  for  service  and  submission.  A 
southern  man  knows  their  composition,  but  it  takes  a 
northern  to  study  the  philosophy — it  does,"  replies  Mr. 
Scranton,  running  his  left  hand  over  his  forehead,  and  then 
his  right  over  the  crown  of  his  head,  as  if  to  cover  a 
bald  spot  with  the  scanty  remnant  of  hair  that  projected 
from  the  sides. 

The  deacon  smiles  at  the  quaint  reply.  He  knows  Mr. 
Scranton's  nortnern  tenacity,  and  begs  to  differ  with  him. 
"  You  are  ultra,  a  little  ultra,  in  all  things,  Mr.  Scranton. 
I  fear  it  is  that,  carried  out  in  morals  as  well  as  politics, 
that  is  fast  reducing  our  system  to  degradation  and  tyranny. 
You  northern  gentlemen  have  a  sort  of  pedantic  solicitude 
for  our  rights,  but  you  underrate  our  feelings  upon  the 
slavery  question.  I'm  one  among  the  few  southerners  who 
hold  what  are  considered  strange  views :  we  are  subjected 
to  ridicule  for  our  views  ;  but  it  is  only  by  those  who  see 
nothing  but  servitude  iu  the  negro, — nothing  but  dollars  and 
cents  in  the  institution  of  slavery. 

Mr.  Scranton  is  struck  with  astonishment,  interrupts 
the  argument  by  insisting  upon  the  great  superiority  of  the 
gentlemen  whites,  and  the  Bible  philosophy  which  he  can 
bring  to  sustain  his  argument. 

':  Stop  one  moment,  my  philosophic  friend,"  the  deacon 
interposes,  earnestly.  "  Upon  that  you  northerners  who 
come  out  here  to  sustain  the  cause  of  slavery  for  the  south, 
all  make  fools  of  yourselves.  This  continual  reasoning 
upon  Bible  philosophy  has  lost  its  life,  funeral  dirges  have 
been  played  over  it,  the  instruments  are  worn  out.  And 
yet,  the  subject  of  the  philosophy  lives, — he  belies  it  with 
his  physical  vigour  and  moral  action.  We  doubt  the  sin 
cerity  of  northerners  ;  we  have  reasons  for  so  doing ;  they 
know  little  of  the  negro,  and  care  less.  Instead  of  assist 
ing  southerners  who  are  inclined  to  do  justice  to  the 
wretch — to  be  his  friend — to  improve  his  condition — to 


122  ANOTHEB  SHADE  OF  THE  PICTUBE. 

protect  him  against  a  tyrant's  wrong,  you  bring  ua  into 
contempt  by  your  proclaiming  virtue  over  the  vice  we 
acknowledge  belongs  to  the  institution.  We  know  its 
defects — we  fear  them  ;  but,  in  the  name  of  heaven,  do  not 
defend  them  at  the  cost  of  virtue,  truth,  honesty.  Do  not 
debase  us  by  proclaiming  its  glories  over  our  heads  ; — do 
not  take  advantage  of  us  by  attempting  to  make  wrong 
right."  The  deacon's  feelings  have  become  earnest ;  his  face 
glows  with  animation. 

Mr.  Scrantou  seems  discomfited.  "  That's  just  like  all 
you  southerners :  you  never  appreciate  anything  we  do 
for  you.  What  is  the  good  of  our  love,  if  you  always 
doubt  it?" 

"  Such  love  !"  says  the  deacon,  with  a  sarcastic  curl  on  his 
lip.  "  It's  cotton-bag  love,  as  full  of  self  as  a  pressed  bale — " 
"  But,  deacon ;  you're  getting  up  on  the  question." 
"  Up    as   high  as   northern  sincerity   is  low.     Nothing 
personal,"  is  the  cool  rejoinder. 

Mr.  Scrauton  inquires  very  seriously—wishing  it  particu 
larly  to  be  understood  that  he  is  not  a  fighting-man — -if 
Deacon  Rosebrook  considers  all  northerners  white-washed, 
ready  to  deceive  through  the  dim  shadows  of  self.  The 
deacon's  frank  and  manly  opinion  of  northern  editors  and 
preachers  disturbs  Scranton's  serious  philosophy.  "  Cotton- 
bag  love!"  there's  something  in  it,  and  contempt  at  the 
bottom,  he  declares  within  himself.  And  he  gives  a  serious 
look,  as  much  as  to  say — "  go  on." 

"  I  do  !  He  who  maketh  right,  what  those  most  interested 
in  know  to  be  wrong,  cherishes  a  bad  motive.  When  a 
philosopher  teaches  doctrines  that  become  doubtful  in  their 
ultraness,  the  weakness  carries  the  insincerity, — the  effort 
becomes  stagnant.  Never  sell  yourself  to  any  class  of  evils 
for  popularity's  sake.  If  you  attempt  it  you  mistake  the 
f;nd,  and  sell  yourself  to  the  obscurity  of  a  political  trickster, 
flatttered  by  a  few,  believed  by  none." 

"  Deacon !  a  little  more  moderate.  Give  us  credit  for 
the  good  we  do.  Don't  get  excited,  don't.  These  are 
ticklish  times,  and  we  northerners  are  quick,to  observe — " 

"  Tes,  when  it  will  turn  a  penny  on  a  nigger  or  a  bale  of 
cotton." 

"Allow  me;  one  minute  if  you  please!"  returned 
Scranton,  with  a  nasal  twang  peculiar  to  his  class,  as  he 


ANOTHER  SHADE  OF  TUK  1MCTUUK.  123 

began  to  work  himself  up  into  a  declamatory  attitude.  "  You 
southerners  don't  understand  what  a  force  them  northern 
abolitionists  are  bringing  against  you  ;  and  you  know  how 
slow  you  are  to  do  things,  and  to  let  your  property  all  go 
to  waste  while  you  might  make  a  good  speculation  on  it. 
There's  just  the  difference  of  things  :  we  study  political 
economy  so  as  to  apply  it  to  trade  and  such  like ;  you  let 
things  go  to  waste,  just  thinking  over  it.  And,  you  see, 
it's  our  nature  to  be  restless  and  searching  out  the  best 
avenues  for  developing  trade.  Why,  deacon,  your  political 
philosophy  would  die  out  if  the  New  Englander  didn't 
edit  your  papers  and  keep  your  nigger  principles  straight." 

"  Nigger  principles  straight !  Ah,  indeed  !  Only  another 
evidence  of  that  cotton-bag  love  that  has  caused  the  banns 
of  matrimony  to  be  published  between  tyrants  who  disgrace 
us  and  northern  speculators.  The  book-publisher — poor 
servile  tool — fears  to  publish  Mrs.  Johnson's  book,  lest  it 
should  contain  something  to  offend  Mrs.  Colonel  Sporting- 
ton,  at  the  south.  Mr.  Stevens,  the  grocer,  dare  not  put 
his  vote  into  the  ballot-box  for  somebody,  because  he  fears 
one  of  his  customers  at  the  south  will  hear  of  it.  Parson 
Munson  dare  not  speak  what  he  thinks  in  a  New  England 
village,  because  Mrs.  Bruce  and  Deacon  Donaldson  have 
yearly  interests  in  slaves  at  the  south ;  and  old  Mattock, 
the  boot-maker,  thinks  it  aint  right  for  niggers  to  be  in 
church  with  white  folks,  and  declares,  if  they  do  go,  they 
should  sit  away  back  in  one  corner,  up  stairs.  He  thinks 
about  the  combination  that  brings  wealth,  old  age,  and 
the  grave,  into  one  vortex, — feels  little  misgiving  upon 
humanity,  but  loves  the  union,  and  wants  nothing  said 
about  niggers.  "We  understand  what  it  all  means,  Mr. 
Seranton ;  and  we  can  credit  it  for  what  it's  worth,  without 
making  any  account  for  its  sincerity  and  independence. 
I  am  one  among  the  few  who  go  for  educating  the  negroes, 
and  in  that  education  to  cultivate  affections  between  slave 
and  master,  to  make  encouragement  perform  the  part  of 
discipline,  and  inspire  energy  through  proper  rewards." 

"  What ! — educate  a  nigger !  These  are  pretty  prin 
ciples  for  a  southerner  to  maintain!  Why,  sir,  if  such 
doctrines  were  advocated  in  the  body  politic  they  would  be 
incendiary  to  southern  institiHions.  Just  educate  the 
niggers,  and  T  wouldn't  be  an  editor  in  the  south  two  days. 
9 


124  AMOTHER  SHADE  OF  THE  PICTURE. 

You'd  see  me  tramping,  bag  and  baggage,  lor  the  north, 
much  as  I  dislike  it !  It  would  never  do  to  educate  such  a 
miserable  set  of  wretches  as  they  are.  You  may  depend 
what  I  say  is  true,  sir.  Their  condition  is  perfectly  hope 
less  at  the  north,  and  the  more  you  try  to  teach  them,  tho 
greater  nuisance  they  become." 

"  Now,  my  good  northern  friend,  not  so  fast,  if  you 
please ;  I  can  see  the  evil  of  all  this,  and  so  can  you,  if  you 
will  but  study  the  negro's  character  a  little  deeper.  The 
menial  man  who  has  passed  through  generations  of  oppres 
sion,  and  whose  life  and  soul  are  blotted  from  the  right  of 
manhood,  is  sensitive  of  the  power  that  crushes  him.  He 
lias  been  robbed  of  the  means  of  elevating  himself  by  those 
who  now  accuse  him  of  the  crime  of  degradation :  and, 
wherever  the  chance  is  afforded  him  of  elevation,  as  that 
increases  so  does  a  tenacious  knowledge  of  his  rights ;  yet, 
he  feels  the  prejudice  that  cuts  and  slights  him  in  his  pro 
gress,  that  charges  him  with  the  impudence  of  a  negro, 
that  calls  his  attempts  to  be  a  man  mere  pompous  foolery." 
"  And  it  is  so !  To  see  a  nigger  setting  himself  up  among 
white  folks — it's  perfectly  ridiculous!" 

"Mark  me,  Mr.  Scranton:  there's  where  you  northerners 
mistake  yourselves.  The  negro  seldom  desires  to  mix  with 
whites,  and  I  hold  it  better  they  should  keep  together ;  but 
that  two  races  cannot  live  together  without  the  one  en 
slaving  the  other  is  a  fallacy  popular  only  with  those  who 
will  not  see  the  future,  and  obstinately  refuse  to  review  the 
past.  You  must  lessen  your  delicate  sensibilities;  and 
when  you  make  them  less  painful  to  the  man  of  colour  at 
the  north,  believe  me,  the  south  will  respond  to  the  feeling. 
Experience  has  changed  my  feelings, — experience  has  been 
my  teacher.  I  have  based  my  new  system  upon  experience  ; 
and  its  working  justifies  me  in  all  I  have  said.  Let  us  set 
about  extracting  the  poison  from  our  institutions,  instead 
of  losing  ourselves  in  contemplating  an  abstract  theory  for 
its  government." 

"  Remember,  deacon,  men  are  not  all  born  to  see  alike. 
There  are  rights  and  privileges  belonging  to  the  southerner : 
he  holds  the  trade  in  men  right,  and  he  would  see  the 
Union  sundered  to  atoms  before  he  would  permit  the  inter 
vention  of  the  federal  gojrernment  on  that  subject,"  Mr. 
Scranton  seriously  remarks,  placing  his  two  thumbs  in  the 


ANOTHER  SHADE  OF  T1IE  PICIUBE.  125 

arnipitd  of  his  vest,  and  assuming  an  air  of  confidence,  as 
if  to  say,  "  I  shall  outsouthern  the  southerner  yet,  I  shall." 
"  That's  just  the  point  upon  which  all  the  villainy  of  our 
institution  rests  :  the  simple  word  man  ! — man  a  progressive 
being ;  man  a  chattel, — a  thing  upon  which  the  sordid 
appetite  of  every  wretch  may  feed.  Why  cannot  Africa 
give  up  men?  She  has  been  the  victim  of  Christendom — 
her  flesh  and  blood  have  served  its  traffic,  have  enriched  its 
coffers,  and  even  built  its  churches ;  but  like  a  ferocious 
wolf  that  preys  upon  the  fold  in  spite  of  watchers,  she  yet 
steals  Afric's  bleeding  victims,  and  frowns  upon  them  because 
they  are  not  white,  nor  live  as  white  men  live." 

"Mercy  on  me!"  says  Mr.  Scranton,  with  a  sigh,  "you 
can't  ameliorate  the  system  as  it  stands :  that's  out  of  the 
question.  Begin  to  loosen  the  props,  and  the  whole  fabric 
will  tumble  down.  And  then,  niggers  won't  be  encouraged 
to  work  at  a  price  for  their  labour ;  and  how  are  you  going 
to  get  along  in  this  climate,  and  with  such  an  enormous 
population  of  vagabonds?" 

"  Eemember,  Mr.  Scranton,"  ejaculated  the  deacon, 
"there's  where  you  mistake  the  man  in  the  negro;  and 
through  these  arguments,  set  forth  in  your  journal,  we 
suifer.  You  must  have  contracted  them  by  association  with 
bad  slave-owners.  Mark  ye !  the  negro  has  been  sunk  to 
the  depths  where  we  yet  curse  him ;  and  is  it  right  that  we 
should  keep  him  cursed  ? — to  say  nothing  of  the  semi-bar 
barous  position  in  which  it  finds  our  poor  whites.  He  feels 
that  his  curse  is  for  life- time ;  his  hopes  vibrate  with  its 
knowledge,  and  through  it  he  falls  from  that  holy  inspira 
tion  that  could  make  him  a  man,  enjoying  manhood's  rights. 
Would  not  our  energy  yield  itself  a  sacrifice  to  the  same 
sacrificer  ?  Had  we  been  loaded  with  chains  of  tyranny, 
what  would  have  been  our  condition  ?  Would  not  that 
passion  which  has  led  the  Saxon  on  to  conquest,  and  spread 
his  energy  through  the.  western  world,  have  yielded  when  he 
saw  the  last  shadow  of  hope  die  out,  and  realised  that  his 
degradation  was  for  life-time  ?  Would  not  the  yearnings  of 
such  a  consummation  have  recoiled  to  blast  every  action  of 
the  being  who  found  himself  a  chattel  ?  And  yet  this  very 
chattel,  thus  yoked  in  death,  toils  on  in  doubts  and  fears, 
in  humbleness  and  submission,  with  unrequited  fortitude 


126  ANOTHER  SHADE  OF  TUB  PICTURE. 

and  affection.  And  still  all  is  doubted  that  he  does,  even 
crushed  in  the  prejudice  against  his  colour !" 

"  Well,  deacon,  you  perfectly  startle  me,  to  hear  a 
southerner  talk  that  way  at  the  south.  If  you  keep  on, 
you'll  soon  have  an  abolition  society  without  sending  north 
for  it." 

"  That's  just  what  I  want.  I  want  our  southerners 
to  look  upon  the  matter  properly,  and  to  take  such  steps 
as  will  set  us  right  in  the  eyes  of  the  world.  Humanity  is 
progressing  witli  rapid  strides — slavery  cannot  exist  before 
it  !  It  must  fall ;  and  we  should  prepare  to  meet  it,  and  not 
be  so  ungrateful,  at  least,  that  we  cannot  reflect  upon  its 
worth,  and  give  merit  to  whom  merit  is  due."  Thus  were 
presented  the  north  and  south ;  the  former  loses  her 
interests  in  humanity  by  seeking  to  serve  the  political  ends 
of  the  latter. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

MRS.  ROSEBROOK'S  PROJECT. 

AT  this  juncture  of  the  conversation,  a  sprightly,  well- 
dressed  servant  opens  the  parlour-door,  announces  missus ! 
The  deacon's  good  lady  enters.  She  is  a  perfect  pattern  of 
neatness, — a  finely-developed  woman  of  more  than  ordinary 
height,  with  blonde  features,  and  a  countenance  as  full  of 
cheerfulness  as  a  bright  May  morning.  She  bows  gracefully; 
her  soft  eyes  kindle  with  intelligence  as  she  approaches 
Mr.  Scranton,  who  rises  with  the  coldness  of  an  iceberg. 
"Be  seated,  Mr.  Scranton,"  she  says,  with  a  voice  so  full 
of  gentleness, — "  be  seated."  Her  form  is  well-rounded,  her 
features  exquisite.  Mr.  Scranton  views  her  seriously,  as  if 
he  found  something  of  great  interest  in  that  marble  forehead, 
those  fine  features  moulding  a  countenance  full  of  soul,  love, 
and  sweetness.  Her  dress  is  of  plain  black  brocade,  made 
high  at  the  neck,  where  it  is  secured  with  a  small  diamond 
pin,  the  front  opening  and  disclosing  a  lace  stomacher  set 
with  undressed  pearls.  Bufflets  and  diamond  bracelets,  of 
chaste  workmanship,  clasp  her  wrists  ;  while  her  light  auburn 
hair,  neatly  laid  in  plain  folds,  and  gathered  into  a  plait  on 
the  back  of  her  head,  where  it  is  delicately  secured  with 
gold  and  silver  cord,  forms  a  soft  contrast.  There  is 
chasteness  and  simplicity  combined  to  represent  character, 
sense,  and  refinement.  She  is  the  mother  of  the  plantation : 
old  negroes  call  her  mother,  young  ones  clamour  with  joy 
when  she  visits  their  abodes :  her  very  soul  is  in  their 
wants  ;  they  look  to  her  for  guidance.  Their  happiness  is 
her  pleasure,  and  by  sharing  the  good  fortune  that 
has  followed  them  she  has  fostered  the  energy  of  their 
negroes,  formed  them  into  families,  encouraged  their 
morality,  impressed  them  with  the  necessity  of  preserving 
family  relations.  .  Against  the  stern  mandates  of  the  law, 
she  has  taught  them  to  read  the  Bible,  reading  and  explain 
ing  it  to  them  herself.  Indeed,  she  has  risen  above  the 


128  MES.  EO8EBKOOK.'S  PItOJECT. 

law  :  she  has  taught  the  more  tractable  cues  to  write ;  she 
has  supplied  the  younger  with  little  story-books,  attractive 
and  containing  good  moral  lessons,  She  rejoices  over  her 
system  :  it  is  honest,  kind,  generous, — it  will  serve  the 
future,  and  is  not  unprofitable  at  present.  It  is  different 
from  that  pursued  by  those  who  would,  through  the  instru 
mentality  of  bad  laws,  enforce  ignorance.  Nay,  to  her  there 
is  something  abhorrent  in  using  the  "Word  of  G-od  as  an 
excuse  for  the  existence  of  slavery.  Her  system  is  practi 
cable,  enlightening  first,  and  then  enforcing  that  which  gives 
encouragement  to  the  inert  faculties  of  our  nature.  Punish 
ments  were  scarcely  known  upon  her  plantation ;  the  lash 
never  used.  Old  and  young  were  made  to  feel  themselves 
part  and  parcel  of  a  family  compact,  to  know  they  had  an 
interest  in  the  crop,  to  gather  hopes  for  the  future,  to 
make  home  on  the  old  plantation  pleasant.  There  was 
something  refreshing  in  the  pride  and  protection  evinced  in 
the  solicitation  of  this  gentle  creature  for  her  negroes. 
In  early  life  she  had  listened  to  their  fables,  had  mixed  with 
them  as  children,  had  enjoyed  their  hours  of  play,  had 
studied  their  sympathies,  and  entered  with  delight  into  the 
very  soul  of  their  jargon  merriment.  She  felt  their  wants, 
and  knew  their  grievances ;  she  had  come  forward  to  be 
their  protector,  their  mother  !  "  AVhy,  Mr.  Scranton,"  she 
exclaims,  laughingly,  in  reply  to  that  gentleman's  remarks, 
as  she  interrupted  the  conversation  between  him  and  the 
deacon,  "  we  would  sooner  suffer  than  sell  one  of  our  boys 
or  girls — even  if  the  worst  came  to  the  worst.  I  know  the 
value  of  family  ties ;  I  know  how  to  manage  negroes.  I 
would  just  as  soon  think  of  selling  our  Matilda,  I  would ! 
If  some  of  you  good  northern  folks  could  only  see  how 
comfortable  my  negroes  are  ! " 

"  Oh,  yes  !"  interrupts  the  deacon,  "  she  takes  it  all  out 
of  my  hands ;  I'm  going  to  give  her  the  reins  altogether 
one  of  these  days.  She  has  got  a  nice  way  of  touching  a 
negro's  feelings  so  that  anything  can  be  done  with  him : 
it  tells  largely  at  times."  Mr.  Scrantou's  face  becomes 
more  serious ;  he  doesn't  seem  to  understand  this  new 
"nigger  philosophy."  "  Poor  creatures  !"  the  deacon  con 
tinues,  "  how  wonderful  is  the  power  of  encouragement ; — 
how  much  may  be  done  if  proper  means  are  applied " 

'•  The  Ir ••u-le  is  in  the  means,"  Mr.  Scranton  interposes, 


MBS.  ROSEBUOOK'S  PROJECT.  129 

scratching  his  head,  as  if  ideas  were  scarce,  and  valuable  for 
the  distance  they  had  to  be  transported. 

Our  good  lady  smiles.  "  I  cannot  help  smiling,  Mr. 
Scranton."  She  speaks  softly.  "  There  are  two  things  I 
want  done — done  quickly :  I  want  southern  philosophers  to 
consider,  and  I  want  southern  ladies  to  act — to  put  on 
energy — to  take  less  care  of  themselves  and  more  of  the 
poor  negro!"  She  lays  her  hand  gently  upon  Mr.  Scranton's 
arm,  her  soft  blue  eyes  staring  him  in  the  face.  "  When 
they  do  this,"  she  continues,  "  all  will  be  well.  "We  can 
soon  show  the  north  how  much  can  be  done  without  their 
assistance.  I  don't  believe  in  women's  rights  meetings, — 
not  I ;  but  I  hold  there  should  be  some  combination  of 
southern  ladies,  to  take  the  moral  elevation  of  the  slave 
into  consideration, — to  set  about  the  work  in  good  earnest, 
to  see  what  can  be  done.  It's  a  monster  work ;  but  monster 
evils  can  be  removed  if  females  will  give  their  hands  and 
hearts  to  the  task.  This  separating  families  to  serve  the 
interests  of  traders  in  human  beings  must  be  stopped : 
females  know  the  pains  it  inflicts  on  suffering  wretches ; 
they  are  best  suited  to  stop  that  heinous  offence  in  the 
sight  of  God  and  man.  They  must  rise  to  the  work  ;  they 
must  devise  means  to  stay  the  waste  of  fortune  now  pro 
gressing  through  dissipation ;  and,  above  all  other  things, 
they  must  rise  up  and  drive  these  frightful  slave-dealers 
from  their  doors." 

Mr.  Scranton  admits  there  is  something  in  all  this,  but 
suggests  that  it  were  better  to  let  the  future  take  care  of 
itself  ;  there's  no  knowing  what  the  future  may  do ;  and  to 
let  those  who  come  in  it  enjoy  our  labours  "  aint  just  the 
policy."  He  contends —willing  to  admit  how  much  the 
ladies  could  do  if  they  would — it  would  not  be  consistent 
with  the  times  to  put  forth  such  experiments,  especially 
when  there  is  so  much  opposition.  "  It  wouldn't  do  !"  he 
whispers. 

The  deacon  here  interrupts  Mr.  Scranton,  by  stepping  to 
the  door  and  ordering  one  of  the  servants  to  prepare 
refreshments. 

" '  It  must  do !  It  won't  do !'  keeps  us  where  we  are, 
and  where  we  are  always  complaining  that  we  never  have 
done.  You  know  I  speak  frankly,  Mr.  Scranton — women 
may  say  what  they  please; — and  let  me  tell  you,  that  when 

K 


130  MBS.  ROSEBBOOK'S  PROJECT. 

you  do  your  duty  it  will  do.  Hard  times  never  were  harder 
than  \vliou  everybody  thought  them  hard.  "We  must  infuse 
principle  into  our  poor  people  ;  we  must  make  them  earnest 
in  agricultural  pursuits ;  we  must  elevate  the  character  of 
labour ;  we  must  encourage  the  mechanic,  and  give  tone  to 
his  pursuits  ;  and,  more  than  all,  we  must  arrest  the  spread 
of  conventional  nonsense,  and  develope  our  natural  resources 
by  establishing  a  system  of  paid  labour,  and  removing  the 
odium  which  attaches  itself  to  those  who  pursue  such 
avocations  as  the  slave  may  be  engaged  in.  My  word  for 
it,  Mr.  Scranton,  there's  where  the  trouble  lies.  Nature 
has  been  lavish  in  her  good  gifts  to  the  south ;  but  we  must 
lend  Nature  a  helping  hand, — we  must  be  the  women  of 
the  south  for  the  south's  good ;  and  we  must  break  down 
those  social  barriers  clogging  our  progress.  Nature  wants 
good  government  to  go  along  with  her,  to  be  her  handfellow 
in  regeneration ;  but  good  government  must  give  Nature 
her  rights.  This  done,  slavery  will  cease  to  spread  its 
loathsome  diseases  through  the  body  politic,  virtue  will  be 
protected  and  receive  its  rewards,  and  the  buds  of  prosperity 
will  be  nourished  with  energy  and  ripen  into  greatness." 

Mr.  Scranton  suggests  that  the  nigger  question  was 
forced  upon  him,  and  thinks  it  better  to  change  the  con 
versation.  Mr..  Scranton  was  once  in  Congress,  thinks  a 
deal  of  his  Congressional  experience,  and  declares,  with  great 
seriousness,  that  the  nigger  question  will  come  to  something 
one  of  these  days.  "  Ah !  bless  me,  madam,"  he  says,  adjusting 
his  arms,  "  you  talk — very — like — a — statesman.  South 
erners  better  leave  all  this  regenerating  of  slaves  to  you.  But 
let  me  say,  whatever  you  may  see  in  perspective,  it's  mighty 
dangerous  when  you  move  such  principles  to  practice.  Mark 
me !  you'll  have  to  pull  down  the  iron  walls  of  the  south,  - 
make  planters  of  different  minds,  drive  self  out  of  mankind, 
and  overthrow  the  northern  speculator's  cotton-bag  love. 
You've  got  a  great  work  before  you,  my  dear  madam, — a 
work  that'll  want  an  extended  lease  of  your  life-time. 
Kemember  how  hard  it  is  to  convince  man  of  the  wrong  of 
anything  that's  profitable.  A  paid  system,  even  emancipa 
tion,  would  have  been  a  small  affair  in  1824  or  1827.  Old 
niggers  and  prime  fellows  were  then  of  little  value  ;  now  it 
is  different.  Ton  may  see  the  obstacle  to  your  project  in 
the  Nashville  Convention  or  Georgia  platform " 


MES.  BOSEBEOOK'S  PKOJECT.  181 

"  Nashville  Convention,  indeed!"  exclaims  Mrs.  Ilosebrook, 
her  face  infused  with  animation,  and  a  curl  of  disdain  on 
her  lip.  "Such  things!  Mere  happy  illustrations  of  the 
folly  of  our  political  affairs.  The  one  was  an  exotic  do- 
nothing  got  up  hy  Mister  Wanting-to-say-something,  who 
soon  gets  ashamed  of  his  mission ;  the  other  was  a  mixture 
of  political  log-rolling,  got  up  by  those  who  wanted  to  tell 
the  Union  not  to  mind  the  Nashville  Convention.  What 
a  pity  they  did  not  tell  the  Union  to  be  patient  with  us ! 
We  must  have  no  more  Nashville  Conventions ;  we  must 
change  Georgia  platforms  for  individual  enterprise, — 
southern  conventions  for  moral  regeneration.  Give  us  these 
changes,  and  we  shall  show  you  what  can  be  done  without 
the  aid  of  the  north."  Several  servants  in  tidy  dresses, 
their  white  aprons  looking  so  clean,  come  bustling  into  the 
room  and  invite  missus  and  her  guest  into  an  airy  ante 
room,  where  a  table  ia  bountifully  spread  with  cake,  fruit, 
fine  old  Madeira,  and  lemonade.  Mr.  Scranton  bows  and 
asks  "the  pleasure;"  Mrs.  Bosebrook  acknowledgingly 
takes  his  arm,  while  the  negroes  bow  and  scrape  as  they 
enter  the  room.  Mr.  Scranton  stands  a  few  moments 
gazing  at  the  set-out.  "  I  hope  Mr.  Scranton  will  make 
himself  quite  at  home,"  the  good  lady  interposes.  Every 
thing  was  .so  exquisitely  arranged,  so  set  off  with  fresh- 
plucked  flowers,  as  if  some  magic  hand  had  just  touched 
the  whole. 

"Now!"  continued  Mrs.  Kosebrook,  motioning  her  head 
as  she  points  to  the  table :  "  you'll  admit  my  negroes  can 
do  something  ?  Poor  helpless  wretches,  we  say  continually  : 
perhaps  they  are  worse  when  bad  owners  can  make  the 
world  look  upon  them  through  northern  prejudice.  They 
are  just  like  children  ;  nobody  gives  them  credit  for  being 
anything  else  ;  and  yet  they  can  do  much  for  our  good.  It 
would  trouble  some  persons  to  arrange  a  table  so  neatly  ; 
my  boys  did  it  all,  you  see!"  And  she  exults  over  the 
efficiency  of  her  negroes,  who  stand  at  her  side  acknow 
ledging  the  compliment  with  broad  grins.  The  deacon  helps 
Mr.  Scranton,  who  commences  stowing  away  the  sweet 
meats  with  great  gusto.  "  It  is  truly  surprising  what 
charming  nigger  property. you  have  got.  They  don't  seem 
a  bit  like  niggers."  he  concludes  deliberately  taking  amouth- 
ful.  Mrs.  Kosebrook,  pleased  at  the  honest  remark, 
reminds  him  that  the  deacon  carries  out  her  views  most 


132  ims.  KOSEBEOOK'S  PKOJECT. 

charmingly,  that  she  studies  negro  character,  and  knows 
that  by  stimulating  it  with  little  things  she  promotes  good. 
She  studies  character  while  the  deacon  studies  politics.  At 
the  same  time,  she  rather  ironically  reminds  Mr.  Scranton 
that  the  deacon  is  not  guilty  of  reading  any  long-winded 
articles  on  "  state  rights  and  secession."  "Not  he!"  she 
says,  laughingly  ;  "  you  don't  catch  him  with  such  cast-iron 
material  in  his  head.  They  call  him  pious-proof  now  and 
then,  but  he's  progress  all  over." 

Mr.  Scranton,  attentive  to  his  appetite,  draws  a  serious 
face,  gives  a  side  glance,  begs  a  negro  to  supply  his  plate 
anew,  and  reckons  he  may  soon  make  a  new  discovery  in 
southern  political  economy.  But  he  fears  Mrs.  Rosebrook's 
plan  will  make  a  mongrel,  the  specific  nature  of  which  it 
would  be  difficult  to  define  in  philosophy.  Perhaps  it  will 
not  be  acceptable  to  the  north  as  a  thinking  people,  nor  will 
it  please  the  generosity  of  southern  ladies. 

"  There  is  where  the  trouble  lies !"  exclaimed  the  deacon, 
who  had  until  then  yielded  up  the  discussion  to  his  good  lady. 
"  They  look  upon  our  system  with  distrust,  as  if  it  were 
something  they  could  not  understand." 

"  I  move  we  don't  say  another  word  about  it,  but  take 
our  part  quietly,"  says  Mrs.  Rosebrook,  insinuating  that 
Mr.  Scranton  had  better  be  left  to  take  his  refreshment 
comfortably  ;  that  he  is  a  little  misanthropic  ;  that  he  must 
be  cheered  up.  "  Come,  my  boys" — directing  her  conver 
sation  to  the  negroes — "  see  that  Mr.  Scranton  is  cared  for. 
And  you  must  summon  Daddy ;  tell  him  to  get  the  carriage 
ready,  to  put  on  his  best  blue  coat, — that  we  are  going  to 
take  Mr.  Scranton  over  the  plantation,  to  show  him  how 
things  can  prosper  when  we  ladies  take  a  hand  in  the 
management."  The  negro  leaves  to  execute  the  order: 
Mr.  Scranton  remains  mute,  now  and  then  sipping  his  wine. 
He  imagines  himself  in  a  small  paradise,  but  "hadn't  the 
least  idea  how  it  was  made  such  a  place  by  niggers."  Why, 
they  are  just  the  smartest  things  in  the  shape  of  property 
that  could  be  started  up.  Regular  dandy  niggers,  dressed 
up  to  "  shine  so,"  they  set  him  thinking  there  was  some 
thing  in  his  politics  not  just  straight.  And  then,  there  was 
BO  much  intelligence,  so  much  politeness  about  the  critters ! 
Why,  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  doctrines  he  had  so  long 
held, he  \vn;il-.i  haw  felt  bashful  at  his  want  of  ease  and  suavity, 


MBS.  KOSEBEOOKS  PHOJECT.  i 

—  things  seldom  taught  in  the  New  England  village  where 
our  pro-slavery  advocate  was  born  and  educated. 

Presently  servants  are  seen  outside,  running  here  and 
there,  their  eyes  glistening  with  anxiety,  as  if  preparing 
for  a  May-day  festival.  Old  Dolly,  the  cook,  shining  with 
the  importance  of  her  profession,  stands  her  greasy  portions 
in  the  kitchen  door,  scolds  away  at  old  Dad,  whose  face 
smiles  with  good-nature  as  he  fusses  over  the  carriage, 
wipes  it,  rubs  it,  and  brushes  it,  every  now  and  then  stop 
ping  to  see  if  it  will  reflect  his  full  black  face.  Little 
woolly-headed  urchins  are  toddling  round  old  Maum  Dolly, 
pulling  the  folds  of  her  frock,  teasing  for  cakes  and 
fritters.  One,  more  expert  in  mischief,  has  perched  him 
self  in  an  aperture  over  the  door,  substituting  himself  for 
the  old  black  hat  with  which  it  is  usually  filled.  Here,  his 
face  like  a  full  moon  in  a  cloud,  he  twists  his  moving  fingers 
into  the  ingeniously- tied  knot  of  Dolly's  bandana,  which 
he  cunningly  draws  from  her  head.  Ben  and  Loblolly,  two 
minor  sprats  of  the  race,  are  seated  in  the  centre  of  the 
yard,  contending  for  the  leaves  of  a  picture-book,  which, 
to  appease  their  characteristic  inquisitiveness,  they  have 
dissected.  Daddy  has  the  horses  ready  and  the  carriage 
waiting;  and  Uncle  Bradshaw,  the  coachman,  and  Caesar, 
the  likely  fellow,  wait  at  the  door  with  as  much  satisfac 
tion  expressed  in  their  faces  as  if  it  were  all  for  them. 
Missus  is  not  to  be  outdone  in  expertness :  a  few  minutes 
ago  she  was  "  snaring"  Mr.  Scran  ton  with  his  own  phi 
losophy  ;  now  she  is  ready  to  take  her^eat. 

"  Missus  !  I  wants  t'  go  down  yander  wid  ye,  I  doe,"  says 
Daddy,  approaching  her  with  hand  extended,  and  working 
his  black  face  up  into  a  broad  grin  as  he  detects  Mr. 
Scranton's  awkwardness  in  getting  into  the  carriage. 

"  Certainly,  Daddy,  certainly :  you  shall  go.  Daddy 
knows  how  to  get  alongside  of  Aunt  Rachel  when  he  gets 
down  on  the  plantation.  He  knows  where  to  get  a  good 
cup  of  coffee  and  a  waff."  And  she  pats  the  old  negro  on 
the  head  as  he  clambers  up  on  the  box.  "  No,-  him  aint 
dat.  Daddy  want  t'  go  wid  missus — ya'h,  ya !  dat  him, 
tis.  Missus  want  somebody  down  da'h  what  spry,  so'e 
take  care  on  'em  round  de  old  plantation.  Takes  my  missus 
to  know  what  nigger  is,"  says  Daddy,  taking  off  his  cap, 
and  bowing  missus  into  the  carriage. 


134  MRS.  ROSEBEOOK'S  PROJECT. 

"Not  one  word  for  mas'r,  eh,  Daddy?"  rejoins  the 
deacon,  lookup  playfully  at  Daddy.  "  Why,  Boss,  you 
aint  nofin  whin  missus  about,"  returns  Daddy,  tauntingly, 
as  he  buttons  his  grey  coat,  and  tells  Bradshaw  to  "  go 
ahead  !"  Away  they  go,  galloping  over  the  plain,  through 
the  swamp,  for  the  plantation, — that  model  experiment 
doubted  by  so  many.  Major  Sprag,  the  politician,  and 
Judge  Snow,  the  statesman,  had  declared  publicly  it  never 
would  do  any  good.  With  them  it  was  not  practical, — it 
gave  negroes  too  much  liberty;  and  they  declared  the 
system  must  be  kept  within  the  narrowest  sphere  of  law,  or 
it  would  be  destroyed  for  ever. 

Onward  the  carriage  bounded,  and  long  before  it  reached 
the  plantation  gate  was  espied  by  the  negroes,  who  came 
sallying  forth  from  their  white  cabins,  crying  out  at  the 
top  of  their  voices — "  Missus  comin' !  Missus  comin ! 
Da'h  missus — dat  she  !  I  know'd  missus  wa'  comin'  t'  day !" 
and  the  music  of  their  voices  re-echoed  through  the  arbour 
of  oaks  that  lined  the  road.  Their  tongues  seemed  to  have 
taken  new  impulse  for  the  occasion.  The  dogs,  at  full  run, 
came  barking  to  the  gate  ;  old  daddies  and  mammas,  with 
faces  "  all  over  smiles,"  followed  in  the  train.  And  they 
were  dressed  so  tidily,  looked  so  cheerful,  and  gave  such 
expressions  of  their  exuberant  feelings,  that  Mr.  Scranton 
seemed  quite  at  a  loss  how  to  account  for  it.  He  had  never 
"before  witnessed  such  a  mingling  of  fondness  for  owners, — 
the  welcome  sounds  of  "  Grod  bless  good  missus !"  They 
were  at  variance  wi{;h  the  misanthropic  ideas  he  had  im 
bibed  at  the  north.  And  then  there  was  a  regular  retinue 
of  the  "  small- fry  property"  bringing  up  the  rear,  with 
curious  faces,  and  making  the  jargon  more  confounding 
with  the  music  of  their  voices.  They  toddled,  screamed, 
and  shouted,  clustered  around  the  gate,  and  before  Daddy 
had  time  to  dismount,  had  it  wide  open,  and  were  contend 
ing  for  the  palm  of  shaking  missus  by  the  hand  "fust." 

The  carriage  drives  to  the  plantation  house,  followed  by 
the  train  of  moving  darkness,  flocking  around  it  like  as  many 
de\  otees  before  an  object  of  superstitious  worship.  Mas'r 
is  only  a  secondary  consideration,  Missus  is  the  angel  of 
their  thoughts ;  her  kindness  and  perseverance  in  their 
behalf  has  softened  their  feelings — stimulated  their  energy. 
How  touching  is  the  fondness  and  tenderness  of  these  de- 


MHS.  ROSEBBOOK'S  PROJECT.  I3o 

graded  mortals !  They  love  their  benefactor.  And,  too,  there 
is  a  lesson  in  it  worthy  the  statesman's  consideration, — it 
shows  a  knowledge  of  right,  and  a  deep  sense  of  gratitude  for 
kindness  bestowed.  Mrs.  Eosebrook  alights  from  the  car 
riage,  receives  their  warm  congratulations,  and,  turning  to 
Mr.  Scranton,  touches  him  on  the  arm,  and  remarks : — 
"  Now,  here  they  are.  Poor  old  bodies," — taking  them  by 
the  hand  in  rotation — just  like  as  many  children.  "  "What 
do  you  think  of  them,  Mr.  Scranton  ?  do  you  not  find 
a  softening  sympathy  creeping  upon  you  ?  I  forgot, 
though,  your  political  responsibility  !  Ah  !  that  is  the  point 
with  statesmen.  You  feel  a  touch  of  conscience  once  in  a 
while,  but  cannot  speak  for  fear  of  the  consequences." 
And  she  laughs  heartily  at  Mr.  Scranton,  who  draws  his  face 
into  a  very  serious  length.  "  Pest  the  niggers !"  he  says, 
as  they  gather  at  his  feet,  asking  all  sorts  of  importune 
questions. 

"  My  good  lady  is  a  regular  reformer,  you  see,  Mr. 
Scranton,"  rejoins  the  deacon,  as  he  follows  that  gentleman 
into  the  hall. 

Mr.  Scranton  remarks,  in  reply,  that  such  does  not  be 
come  caste,  and  two  pompous-looking  servants  set  upon  him 
brushing  the  dirt  from  his  clothes  with  great  earnestness. 
The  negroes  understand  Mr.  Scranton  at  a  glance ;  he  is  an 
amiable  stoic ! 

Mrs.  Eosebrook  disappears  for  a  few  minutes,  and  returns 
minus  her  bonnet  and  mantle.  She  delights  to  have  the  old 
and  the  young  around  her, — to  study  their  characters,  to 
hear  their  stories,  their  grievances,  and  to  relieve  their 
wants.  "  These  little  black  imps,"  she  says,  patting  them 
on  the  head  as  they  toddle  around  her,  "  They're  just  as  full 
of  interest  as  their  shiny  black  skins  are  full  of  mischief;" 
and  one  after  another,  with  hand  extended,  they  seek  a  re 
cognition  ;  and  she  takes  them  in  her  arms,  fondling  them 
with  the  affection  of  a  nurse. 

"  Here's  Toby,  too  ;  the  little  cunning  rascal !  He  is  as 
sleek  as  a  mole,  a  young  coon,"  she  ejaculates,  stooping  down 
and  playfully  working  her  fingers  over  Toby's  crispy  hair,  aa 
he  sits  upon  the  grass  in  front  of  the  house,  feasting  on  a 
huge  sweet  potato,  with  which  he  has  so  bedaubed  his  face 
that  it  looks  like  a  mask  with  the  terrific  portrayed  in  the 
rolling  of  two  immense  white  eyes.  "And  here  is  Nichol 


136  MHS.  ROSECROOK'S  PUOJECT. 

Garvie !"  and  she  turns  to  another,  pats  him  on  the  head, 
and  shakes  his  hand.  "  "We  mean  to  make  a  great  man  of 
him, you  see,  -he  has  head  enough  to  make  a  Congress  man  ; 
who  knows  but  that  he'll  get  there  when  he  grows  up  P" 

"Congress,  happily,  is  beyond  niggers,"  replies  Mr. 
Scranton,  approving  the  lady :  "  Congress  is  pure  yet !" 
Turning  round,  she  recommends  Mr.  Scranton  to  put  his 
northern  prejudices  in  his  pocket,  where  they  will  be  safe 
when  required  for  the  purposes  of  the  south.  "  A  nigger  's 
a  nigger  all  over  the  world,"  rejoins  Mr.  Scrauton,  signifi 
cantly  shrugging  his  shoulders  and  casting  a  doubtful 
glance  at  the  young  type. 

"True!  true !"  she  returns,  giving  Mr.  Scranton  a  look 
of  pity.  "  God  give  us  sight  to  see  !  We  praise  our  fore 
fathers — honest  praise  ! — but  we  forget  what  they  did.  They 
brought  them  here,  poor  wretches  ;  decoyed  them,  deceived 
them, — and  now  we  wish  them  back  at  the  very  time  it  would 
be  impossible  to  live  without  them,  liow  happy  is  the  mind 
that  believes  a  '  nigger'  must  be  a  nigger  for  ever  and  ever ; 
and  that  we  must  do  all  in  our  power  to  keep  him  from 
being  anything  else  !"  And  her  soft  blue  eyes  glowed  with 
sympathy ;  it  was  the  soul  of  a  noble  woman  intent  on  doing 
good.  She  had  stepped  from  the  darkness  of  a  political 
error  into  the  airy  height  of  light  and  love. 

Daddy  and  Bradshavv  had  taken  care  of  the  horses  ;  the 
deacon  greeted  his  negroes  as  one  by  one  they  came  to 
welcome  him ;  and  for  each  he  had  a  kind  word,  a  joke,  a 
shake  of  the  hand,  or  an  enquiry  about  some  missing  member 
of  a  family.  The  scene  presented  an  interesting  picture — 
the  interest,  policy,  and  good  faith  between  master  and 
slave.  No  sooner  were  the  horses  cared  for,  than  Daddy 
and  Bradshaw  started  for  the  "cabins,"  to  say  welcome  to 
the  old  folks,  "a  heap  a'  how  de"  to  the  gab,  and  tell  de 
boys,  down  yander,  in  de  tater  patch,  dat  Missus  come. 
They  must  have  their  touching  congratulations,  inter 
change  the  news  of  the  city  for  the  gossip  of  the  planta 
tion,  and  drink  the  cup  of  tea  Mamma  makes  for  the  occa 
sion.  Soon  the  plantation  is  all  agog ;  and  the  homely,  but 
neat  cabins,  swarm  with  negroes  of  all  ages,  bustling  here 
and  there,  and  making  preparations  for  the  evening  supper, 
which  Aunt  Peggy,  the  cook,  has  been  instructed  to  prepare 
in  her  verv  best  stvle. 


MRS.  KOSEBKOOK'S  PROJECT.  137 

The  deacon  joins  his  good  lady,  and,  with  Mr.  Scrariton, 
they  prepare  to  walk  over  and  view  the  plantation.  They 
are  followed  by  a  retinue  of  old  and  young  property,  giving 
vent  to  their  thoughts  in  expressions  of  gratitude  to  Missus 
and  Mas'r.  A  broad  expanse  of  rural  beauty  stretches 
towards  the  west,  soft  and  enchanting.  The  sun  is  sinking 
into  the  curtains  of  a  refulgent  cloud  ;  its  crimson  light  casts 
a  mellow  shade  over  the  broad  landscape ;  the  evening 
breeze  is  wafting  coolly  over  the  foliage,  a  welcome  relief  to 
the  scorching  heat  of  mid-day;  the  balmy  atmosphere 
breathes  sweetness  over  the  whole.  To  the  north  stands 
a  clump  of  fine  old  oaks,  high  above  the  distant  "  bottom," 
reflecting  in  all  their  richness  the  warm  tints  of  the  setting 
sun.  The  leaves  rustle  as  they  pass  along ;  long  lines  of 
cotton  plants,  with  their  healthy  blossoms,  brighten  in  the 
evening  shade ;  the  corn  bends  under  its  fruit ;  the  potato 
field  looks  fresh  and  luxuriant,  and  negroes  are  gathering 
from  the  slip-beds  supplies  of  market  gardening.  There  is 
but  one  appearance  among  the  workers  —  cheerfulness ! 
They  welcome  Mas'r  as  he  passes  along ;  and  again  busily 
employ  themselves,  hoeing,  weeding,  and  working  at  the 
roots  of  vines  in  search  of  destructive  insects. 

"  My  overseers  are  all  black,  every  one  !  I  would'nt  have 
a  white  one ;  they  are  mostly  tyrants,"  says  the  deacon, 
looking  at  his  fields,  exultingly.  "  And  my  overseers  plan 
out  the  very  best  mode  of  planting.  They  get  through 
a  heap  of  work,  with  a  little  kindness  and  a  little  manage 
ment.  Those  two  things  do  a  deal,  Sir !  Five  years  ago,  I 
projected  this  new  system  of  managing  negroes — or,  rather 
my  lady  planned  it, — she  is  a  great  manager,  you  see, — and 
I  adopted  it.  You  see  how  it  has  worked,  Mr.  Scranton." 
The  deacon  takes  Mr.  Scranton  by  the  arm,  pointing  over 
the  broad  expanse  of  cultivated  land,  bending  under  the 
harvest.  I  make  all  my  negroes  marry  when  they  have 
arrived  at  a  specific  age  ;  I  assure  them  I  never  will  sell 
one  unless  he  or  she  commits  a  heinous  crime  ;  and  I  never 
have.  There  is  a  great  deal  in  keeping  faith  with  a  negro  ; 
he  is  of  mankind,  and  moved  by  natural  laws  mentally  and 
physically,  and  feels  deeply  the  want  of  what  we  rarely  re 
gard  of  much  consequence — confidence  in  his  master's  word. 
Wife  encourages  their  moral  energy ;  I  encourage  their 
physical  by  filling  their  bellies  with  aa  nmch  corn  and  bacon 


138  MRS.  ROSKBROOK'S  PROJECT. 

as  they  can  eat ;  and  then  I  give  them  five  cents  per  day 
(the  heads  of  families)  to  get  those  little  necessaries  which 
are  so  essential  to  their  comfort  and  encouragement.  I  call 
it  our  paid-labour  system  ;  and  I  give  them  tasks,  too,  and 
when  they  have  finished  them  I  allow  a  small  stipend  for 
extra  work.  It's  a  small  mite  for  a  great  end ;  and  it's 
such  an  encouragement  with  them  that  I  get  about  thirty 
per  cent,  more  work  done.  And  then  1  allow  them  to  read 
just  as  much  as  they  please — what  do  I  care  about  law  ? 
I  don't  want  to  live  where  learning  to  read  is  dangerous  to 
the  State,  I  don't.  Their  learning  to  read  never  can  de 
stroy  their  affections  for  me  and  wife  ;  and  kindness  to 
them  will  make  them  less  dangerous  in  case  of  insurrection. 
It's  not  the  education  we've  got  to  fear;  our  fears  increase 
with  the  knowledge  of  our  oppression.  They  know  these 
things — they  feel  them  ;  and  if  by  educating  them  one  can 
cultivate  their  confidence,  had  we  not  better  do  it  with  a 
view  to  contingencies  ?  Now,  as  the  result  of  our  system, 
we  have  promised  to  give  all  our  negroes  their  freedom  at 
the  expiration  of  ten  years,  and  send  such  as  wish  to  go,  to 
Liberia ;  but,  I  hold  that  they  can  do  as  much  for  us  at 
home,  work  for  us  if  properly  encouraged,  and  be  good  free 
citizens,  obedient  to  the  laws  of  the  State,  serving  the 
general  good  of  a  great  country." 

"Yes!"  the  good  lady  interposes:  "I  want  to  see  those 
things  carried  out ;  they  will  yet  work  for  the  regeneration 
of  their  own  race.  Heaven  will  some  day  reward  the  hand 
that  drags  the  cursed  mantle  from  off  poor  Africa ;  and  Africa 
herself  will  breathe  a  prayer  to  Heaven  in  grateful  acknow 
ledgment  of  the  act  that  frees  her  from  the  stain  of 
being  the  world's  bonded  warehouse  for  human  flesh  and 
blood." 

The  deacon  interrupts, — suggests  "  that  it  were  better  to 
move  practically;  and  that  small  streams  may  yet  direct 
how  a  mountain  may  be  removed.  Our  Union  is  a  great 
monument  of  what  a  Republic  may  be, — a  happy  combination 
of  life,  freshness,  and  greatness,  upon  which  the  Old  World 
looks  with  distrust.  The  people  have  founded  its  happiness — 
its  greatness !  God  alone  knows  its  destiny  ;  crowned  heads 
would  not  weep  over  its  downfall !  It  were  better  each 
citizen  felt  his  heart  beating  to  the  words — It  is  my  country  ; 
cursed  be  the  hand  raised  to  sever  its  members  !"  The  lady 


MBS.  EOSEBEOOK'S  PEOJECT.  139 

tells  Mr.  Scranton  that  their  produce  has  increased  every 
year ;  that  last  year  they  planted  one  hundred  and  twenty 
acres  with  cotton,  ninety  with  corn,  forty  with  sweet 
potatoes,  as  many  more  with  slips  and  roots;  and  three 
acres  of  water-melons  for  the  boys,  which  they  may  eat  or 
sell.  She  assures  him  that  by  encouraging  the  pay  system 
they  get  a  double  profit,  besides  preparing  the  way  fop 
something  that  must  come. 

"  Come  !"  Mr.  Scranton  interrupts :  "  let  the  south  be 
true  to  herself,  and  there's  no  fear  of  that.  But  I  confess, 
deacon,  there  is  something  good  as  well  as  curious  about 
your  way  of  treating  niggers."  And  Mr.  Scrauton  shakes 
his  head,  as  if  the  practicability  yet  remained  the  great 
obstacle  in  his  mind.  •'  Your  niggers  ain't  every  body's," 
he  concludes. 

"  Try  it,  try  it !"  Mrs.  Eosebrook  rejoins  :  "  Gro  home  and 
propound  something  that  will  relieve  us  from  fear — some 
thing  that  will  prepare  us  for  any  crisis  that  may  occur!" 

It  was  six  o'clock,  the  plantation  bell  struck,  and  the  cry 
sounded  "All  hands  quit  work,  and  repair  to  supper!" 
Scarcely  had  the  echoes  resounded  over  the  woods  when  the 
labourers  were  seen  scampering  for  their  cabins,  in  great  glee. 
They  jumped,  danced,  jostled  one  another,  and  sang  the 
cheering  melodies,  "  Sally  put  da'  hoe  cake  down !"  and 
"  Down  in  Old  Tennessee." 

Beaching  their  cabins  they  gathered  into  a  conclave 
around  Daddy  and  Bradshaw,  making  the  very  air  resound 
with  their  merry  jargon.  Such  a  happy  meeting — such 
social  congratulations,  pouring  forth  of  the  heart's  affec 
tions,  warm  and  true, — it  had  never  been  before  Mr. 
Scranton's  fortune  to  witness.  Indeed,  when  he  listened  to 
the  ready  flashes  of  dialogue  accompanying  their  animation, 
and  saw' the  strange  contortions  of  their  fresh,  shining  faces, 
he  began  to  "  reckon"  there  was  something  about  niggers 
that  might,  by  a  process  not  yet  discovered,  be  turned  into 
something. 

Old  "  Mammies"  strive  for  the  honour  of  having  Daddy 
and  Bradshaw  sup  at  their  cabins,  taunting  each  other  on 
the  spareness  of  their  meal.  Fires  are  soon  lit,  the  stew- 
pans  brought  into  requisition,  and  the  smoke,  curling  up 
ward  among  a  myriad  of  mosquitoes,  is  dispersing  them 
like  a  band  of  unwelcome  intruders ;  while  the  corn-mills 
10 


140  MRS.  ROSEBROOK'S  PROJECT. 

rattle  and  rumble,  making  the  din  and  clatter  more  con 
founding.  Daddy  and  Bradshaw  being  "  aristocratic  darkies 
from  the  city" — caste  being  tenaciously  kept  up  among 
negroes — were,  of  course,  recipients  of  the  choicest  delicacies 
the  plantation  afforded,  not  excepting  fresh  eggs  poached, 
and  possum.  Bradshaw  is  particularly  fond  of  ghost  stories ; 
and  as  old  Maum  Nancy  deals  largely  in  this  article,  as  well 
as  being  the  best  believer  in  spectres  on  the  plantation,  he 
concludes  to  sup  with  her,  in  her  hospitable  cabin,  when  she 
will  relate  all  that  she  has  seen  since  she  last  saw  him. 
Maum  Nancy  is  as  black  as  a  crow,  has  a  rich  store  of 
tales  on  hand ;  she  will  please  the  old  man,  more  particu 
larly  when  she  tells  him  about  the  very  bad  ghost  seen 
about  the  mansion  for  more  than  "  three  weeks  of  nights." 
He  has  got  two  sarpents'  heads  ;  Maum  Nancv  declares  the 
statement  true,  for  uncle  Enoch  "  seen  him," — he  is  a  grey 
ghost — and  might  a'  knocked  him  over  with  his  wattle, 
only  he  darn't  lest  he  should  reek  his  vengeance  at  some 
unexpected  moment.  And  then  he  was  the  very  worst  kind 
of  a  ghost,  for  he  stole  all  the  chickens,  not  even  leaving  the 
feathers.  They  said  he  had  a  tail  like  the  thing  Mas'r 
Sluck  whipped  his  "niggers"  with.  Bradshaw  sups  of 
Maum  Nancy's  best,  listening  to  her  stories  with  great 
concern.  The  story  of  the  ghost  with  two  heads  startles 
him  ;  his  black  picture,  frame  fills  with  excitement ;  he  has 
never  before  heard  that  ghosts  were  guilty  of  predatory 
crimes.  So  enchained  and  excited  is  he  with  her  story,  that 
the  party  at  the  house  having  finished  supper,  have  made 
preparations  to  leave  for  the  city.  A  finger  touches  him  on 
the  shoulder  ;  he  startles,  recognises  Daddy,  who  is  in  search 
of  him,  and  suddenly  becomes  conscious  that  his  absence  has 
caused  great  anxiety.  Daddy  has  found  him  quietly  eating 
Maum  Nancy's  cakes,  while  intently  listening  to  the  story 
about  the  ghost  "what"  steals  all  her  chickens.  He  is 
quite  unconcerned  about  Mas'r,  Missus — anything  but  the 
ghost !  He  catches  his  cap,  gives  Nancy's  hand  a  AA-arm 
shake,  says  Q-od  bless  'em,  hastens  for  the  mansion,  finds 
the  carriage  waiting  at  the  door,  for  Mas'r  and  Missus,  who 
take  their  seats  as  he  arrives.  Bradshaw  mounts  the  box 
again,  and  away  it  rolls  down  the  oak  avenue.  The  happy 
party  leave  for  home ;  the  plantation  people  are  turned  out 
en  masse  to  say  good  bye  to  Missus,  and  "  hope  Mas'r  get 


MES.  ROSEBROOK'S  PROJECT.  141 

safe  home."  Their  greetings  aound  forth  as  the  carriage 
disappears  in  the  distance  ;  fainter  and  fainter  the  good  wish 
falls  upon  their  ears.  They  are  well  on  the  road ;  Mr. 
Scranton,  who  sits  at  the  side  of  the  good  lady,  on  the  back 
seat,  has  not  deigned  to  say  a  word :  the  evening  grows 
dark,  and  his  mind  seems  correspondingly  gloomy.  "  I  tell 
you,  I  feel  so  pleased,  so  overjoyed,  and  so  happy  when  I  visit 
the  plantation,  to  see  those  poor  creatures  so  happy  and  so 
full  of  fondness  !  It's  worth  all  the  riches  to  know  that  one 
is  loved  by  the  poor.  Did  you  ever  see  such  happiness, 
Mr.  Scranton  ?"  Mrs.  Bosebrook  enquires,  coolly. 

"  It  requires  a  great  deal  of  thinking,  a  great  deal  of 
caution,  a  great  deal  of  political  foresight,  before  answering 
such  questions.  You'll  pardon  me,  my  dear  madam,  I  know 
you  will ;  I  always  speak  square  on  questions,  you  know. 
It's  hard  to  reconcile  oneself  to  niggers  being  free." 

"  Ah !  yes — it's  very  amiable  to  think ;  but  how  much 
more  praiseworthy  to  act !  If  we  southern  ladies  set  our 
selves  about  it  we  can  do  a  great  deal ;  we  can  save  the  poor 
creatures  being  sold,  like  cows  and  calves,  in  this  free  country. 
We  must  save  ourselves  from  the  moral  degradation  that  is 
upon  us.  What  a  pity  Marston's  friends  did  not  make 
an  effort  to  change  his  course !  If  they  had  he  would  not 
now  be  in  the  hands  of  that  Graspum.  We  are  surrounded 
by  a  world  of  temptation ;  and  yet  our  planters  yield  to 
them  ;  they  think  everything  a  certainty,  forgetting 
that  the  moment  they  fall  into  Graspum's  hands  they  are 
gone." 

Mr.  Scranton  acknowledges  he  likes  the  look  of  things  on 
the  plantation,  but  suggests  that  it  will  be  considered  an 
innovation, — an  innovation  too  dangerous  to  be  considered. 
Innovations  are  dangerous  with  him, — unpopular,  cannot 
amount  to  much  practical  good.  He  gives  these  insinua 
tions  merely  as  happy  expressions  of  his  own  profound 
opinion.  The  carriage  approaches  the  villa,  which,  seen 
from  the  distance,  seems  sleeping  in  the  calm  of  night.  Mr. 
Scranton  is  like  those  among  us  who  are  always  fearing,  but 
never  make  an  effort  to  remove  the  cause ;  they,  too,  are 
doggedly  attached  to  political  inconsistency,  and,  though 
at  times  led  to  see  the  evil,  never  can  be  made  to  acknow 
ledge  the  wrong.  They  reach  the  garden  gate;  Mr. 
Scrauton  begs  to  be  exctised  from  entering  the  Villa, — takes 


142  MRS.  ROSEBROOK'S  PROJECT. 

a  formal  leave  of  his  friend,  and  wends  his  way  home, 
thinking.  "  There's  something  in  it !"  he  says  to  himself,  as 
he  passes  the  old  bridge  that  separates  the  city  from  the 
suburb.  "  It's  not  so  much  for  the  present  ns  it  is  for  the 
hereafter.  Nobody  thinks  of  repairing  this  old  bridge,  and 
yet  it  has  been  decaying  under  our  eyes  for  years.  Some  day 
it  will  suddenly  fall, — a  dozen  people  will  be  precipitated  into 
the  water  below,  some  killed ;  the  city  will  then  resound 
with  lamentations  ;  every  bodyknows  it  must  take  place  one 
of  these  days,  everybody  is  to  blame,  but  no  special  criminal 
can  be  found.  There's  something  in  the  comparison  !"  he 
says,  looking  over  the  old  railing  into  the  water.  And  then 
his  thoughts  wandered  to  the  plantation.  There  the  germs 
of  an  enlightened  policy  were  growing  up  ;  the  purity  of  a 
noble  woman's  heart  was  spreading  blessings  among  a  down 
cast  race,  cultivating  their  minds,  raising  them  up  to  do 
good  for  themselves,  to  reward  the  efforts  of  the  benefactor. 
Her  motto  was : — Let  us  through  simple  means  seek  the 
elevation  of  a  class  of  beings  whose  degradation  has  dis 
tracted  the  political  wisdom  of  our  happy  country,  from  its 
conquest  to  the  present  day.  "  There's  something  in  it," 
again  mutters  Mr.  Scranton,  as  he  enters  his  room,  lights 
his  taper,  and  with  his  elbow  resting  on  the  table,  his  head 
supported  in  his  hand,  sits  musing  over  the  subject. 


THE  PLANTATION  CHURCH. 


•'Peace  reisrns  at  Rosebrook's  plantation.     How  vivid  of  happiness  was  the  scene 
presented  in  that  plantation  church." 


CHAPTER  XII. 

ELDER  PEMBERTON  PRAISEWORTHY  CHANGES  HIS  BUSINESS. 

LET  us  beg  the  reader's  indulgence  for  a  few  moments, 
while  we  say  that  Mr.  Scrauton  belonged  to  that  lar  ^e  class 
of  servile  flatterers  who  too  often  come  from  the  New  England 
States — men,  who,  having  no  direct  interest  in  slaves,  make 
no  scruple  of  sacrificing  their  independence  that  they  may 
appear  true  to  the  south  and  slavery.  Such  men  not  unfre- 
quently  do  the  political  vampirism  of  the  south  without 
receiving  its  thanks,  but  look  for  the  respect  of  political 
factions  for  being  loudest  supporters  of  inconsistency.  They 
never  receive  the  thanks  of  the  southerner  ;  frequently  and 
deservedly  do  they  sink  into  contempt ! 

A  few  days  after  the  visit  to  the  plantation  we  have 
described  in  the  foregoing  chapter,  Elder  Pemberton 
Praiseworthy,  divested  of  his  pastoral  occupation,  and  seri 
ously  anxious  to  keep  up  his  friendly  associations  with  those 
who  had  taken  a  part  in  furthering  the  cause  of  humanity, 
calls  on  his  old  acquaintance,  Mrs.  Kosebrook.  He  has 
always  found  a  welcome  under  her  hospitable  roof, — a  good 
meal,  over  which  he  could  discourse  the  benefits  he  bestowed, 
through  his  spiritual  mission,  upon  a  fallen  race ;  never 
leaving  without  kindly  asking  permission  to  offer  up  a 
prayer,  in  which  he  invoked  the  mercy  pf  the  Supreme  Ruler 
over  all  things.  In  this  instance  he  seems  somewhat  down 
cast,  forlorn  ;  he  has  changed  his  business ;  his  brown,  lean 
face,  small  peering  eyes,  and  low  forehead,  with  bristly  black 
hair  standing  erect,  give  his  features  a  careworn  air.  He 
apologises  for  the  unceremonious  call,  and  says  he  always 
forgets  etiquette  in  his  fervour  to  do  good ;  to  serve  his 
fellow-creatures,  to  be  a  Christian  among  the  living,  and 
serve  the  dying  arid  the  dead — if  such  have  wants — is  his 
motto.  And  that  his  motives  may  not  be  misconstrued  he  has 
come  to  report  the  peculiar  phases  of  the  business  he  found 
it  actually  necessary  to  turn  his  hand  to.  That  he  will  gain 
a  complete  mastery  over  the  devil  he  has  not  the  fraction  of 


144         ELDER  PHAISEWOBTHY  CHANGES  HIS  BUSINESS. 

a  doubt ;  and  as  he  has  always — deeming  him  less  harmless 
than  many  citizens  of  the  south — -had  strong  prejudices 
against  that  gentleman,  he  now  has  strong  expectations 
of  carrying  his  point  against  him.  Elder  Praiseworthy  once 
heard  a  great  statesman— who  said  singular  things  as  well  in 
as  out  of  Congress— say  that  he  did'nt  believe  the  devil  was 
a  bad  fellow  after  all ;  and  that  with  a  little  more  schooling 
he  might  make  a  very  useful  gentleman  to  prevent  duelling 
— in  a  word,  that  there  was  no  knowing  how  we'd  get  along 
at  the  south  without  such  an  all-important  personage.  He 
has  had  several  spells  of  deep  thinking  on  this  point,  which, 
though  he  cannot  exactly  agree  with  it,  he  holds  firmly  to 
the  belief  that,  so  far  as  it  affects  duelling,  the  devil  should 
be  one  of  the  principals,  and  he,  being  specially  ordained, 
the  great  antagonist  to  demolish  him  with  his  chosen  weapon 
— humanity. 

"  They  tell  me  you  have  gone  back  into  the  world,"  says 
Mrs.  Rosebrook,  as  the  waiter  hands  Elder  Pemberton  Praise 
worthy  a  chair.  "  It's  only  the  duty  of  love,  of  Christian 
goodness,  he  humbly  replies,  ftnd  takes  his  seat  as  Mrs. 
Rosebrook  says — "pray  be  seated!" 

"  I'm  somewhat  fatigued  ;  but  it's  the  fatigue  of  loving  to 
do  good,  he  says,  rubbing  his  hands  very  piously,  and  giving 
a  look  of  great  ministerial  seriousness  at  the  good  lady.  We 
will  omit  several  minor  portions  of  the  Elder's  cautious 
introduction  of  his  humane  occupation,  commencing  where  he 
sets  forth  the  kind  reasons  for  such  a  virtuous  policy. 
"  You  honestly  think  you  are  serving  the  Lord,  do  you  ?" 
enquires  the  lady,  as  she  takes  her  seat. 

The  Elder  evinces-  surprise  at  such  a  question.  Hath  he 
moved  among  Christians  so  many  years,  ministering  to 
spiritual  wants,  and  yet  the  purity  of  his  motives  be  ques 
tioned  ?  "  Good  madam  !  we  must  have  faith  to  believe. 
All  that  is  meant  well  should  be  accepted  in  the  greatness  of 
the  intention.  You  will  observe,  I  am  neither  a  lawyer  nor 
a  politician  ;  I  would' nt  be  for  the  world  !  "We  must  always 
be  doing  something  for  the  good  of  others  ;  and  we  must  not 
forget,  whilst  we  are  doing  it,  to  serve  the  Allwise  one  ;  and 
while  we  are  effecting  the  good  of  one  we  are  serving  the 
designs  of  the  other."  Thus  emphatically  spoke  the  Elder, 
fingering  a  book  that  lay  on  the  table.  "  I  buy  sick  people, 
I  save  the  dying,  and  I  instruct  them  in  the"  wavs  of  the 


ELDER  PRAISEWORTHY  CHANGES  HIS  BUSINESS.  145 

Lord  as  soon  as  they  are  cured,  aucl — "     And  here  the 
Elder  suddenly  stops. 

"  Add,  Mr.  Praiseworthy,  that  when  you  have  cured  them, 
and  instructed  them  in  the  way  of  the  Lord,  you  sell  them !" 
interrupts  the  lady,  watching  the  sudden  changes  that  pass 
over  his  craven  features. 

"  I  always  get  them  good  masters  ;  I  never  fail  in  that, 
do  I  stand  upon  the  profit — it's  the  humanity  I  takes 
into  the  balance."  He  conceives  good  under  the  motley 
garb  of  his  new  mission. 

"  Humanity — strange  humanity,  with  self  coiled  beneath. 
Why,  Mr.  Praiseworthy  !"  the  lady  starts  from  her  seat,  and 
speaks  with  emphasis,  "  do  you  tell  me  that  you  have  become 
a  resurrection  man,  standing  at  the  platform  of  death,  inter 
posing  with  it  for  a  speculation  ?" 

"It's  no  uncommon  business,  Madam ;  hundreds  follow 
it ;  some  have  got  rich  at  it." 

"  Got  rich  at  it !"  Mrs.  Eosebrook  interrupts,  as  a  saga 
cious  looking  cat  bounds  on  the  table,  much  to  the  dis 
comfiture  of  the  Elder,  who  jumps  up  in  a  great  fright, — 
"  "What  irresistible  natures  we  have  ;  may  heavea  save  us 
from  the  cravings  of  avarice!" 

The  Elder  very  methodically  puts  the  interrupting  cat 
upon  the  floor,  and  resumes  his  seat.  "  Why,  bless  us, 
good  madam,  we  must  have  something  to  keep  our  con 
sciences  clear  ;  there's  nothing  like  living  a  straightforward 
life." 

"What  a  horrible  inconsistency!  Buying  the  sick  and 
the  dying.  May  the  dead  not  come  in  for  a  portion  of 
your  singular  generosity  ?  If  you  can  speculate  in  the  dying 
why  exclude  the  dead  ?  the  principle  would  serve  the  same 
faith  in  Christianity.  The  heart  that  can  purchase  the 
dying  must  be  full  of  sad  coldness,  dragging  the  woes  and 
pains  of  mortality  down  to  a  tortuous  death.  Save  us  from 
the  feelings  'of  speculation, — call  them  Christian,  if  you 
will, — that  makes  man  look  upon  a  dying  mortal,  valuing  bat 
the  dollars  and  cents  that  are  passing  away  with  his  life," 
she  interrupts,  giving  vent  to  her  pent-up  feelings. 

Mr.  Praiseworthy  suggests  that  the  good  lady  does  not 
comprehend  the  virtue  lying  beneath  his  motives ;  that  it 
takes  a  philosophical  mind  to  analyse  the  good  that  can  be 
done  to  human  nature,  especially  poor  black  human  nature. 


146  ELDER  PRAISEWORTHY  CHANGES  HIS  BUSINESS. 

And  he  asserts,  with  great  sincerity,  that  saving  the  lives  of 
those  about  to  die  miserable  deaths  is  a  wonderful  thing  for 
the  cause  of  humanity.  Buying  them  saves  their  hopeless 
lives ;  and  if  that  isn't  praiseworthy  nothing  can  be,  and 
when  the  act  is  good  the  motive  should  not  be  questioned. 

"  Do  you  save  their  lives  for  a  Christian  purpose,  or  is  it 
lucre  you  seek,  Mr.  Praiseworthy?"  she  enquires,  giving  the 
Elder  a  significant  look,  and  waiting  for  a  reply. 

The  Elder  rises  sedately,  and  walks  across  the  room,  con 
sidering  his  reply.  "  The  question's  so  kind  of  round 
about,"  he  mutters,  as  she  continues : — 

"  Sick  when  you  purchase,  your  Christianity  consists  in 
the  art  of  healing;  but  you  sell  them,  and  consequently 
save  their  lives  for  a  profit.  There  is  no  cholera  in  our 
plantation,  thank  God !  you  cannot  speculate  on  our  sick. 
You  outshine  the  London  street  Jews ;  they  deal  in  old 
clothes,  you  deal  in  human  oddities,  tottering  infirmity,  sick 
negroes."  Mrs.  Rosebrook  suggests  that  such  a  business 
in  a  great  and  happy  country  should  be  consigned  to  its 
grave-digger  and  executioner,  or  made  to  pay  a  killing 
income  tax. 

The  humane  Elder  views  his  clothes ;  they  have  become 
somewhat  threadbare  since  he  entered  upon  his  new  pro- 
fession.  He,  as  maybe  supposed, feels  the  force  of  the 
lady's  remarks,  and  yet  cannot  bring  his  mind  to  believe 
himself  actuated  by  anything  but  a  love  to  do  good.  Kind 
ness,  he  contends,  was  always  the  most  inherent  thing  in  hia 
nature:  it' is  an  insult  to  insinuate  anything  degrading 
connected  with  his  calling.  And,  too,  there  is  another  con 
solation  which  soars  above  all, — it  is  legal,  and  there  is  a 
respectability  connected  with  all  legal  callings. 

"To  be  upright  is  my  motto,  madam,"  the  Elder  says, 
drawing  his  hand  modestly  over  his  mouth,  and  again 
adjusting  the  tie  of  his  white  neck-cloth.  "I'm  trying  to 
save  them,  and  a  penny  with  them.  You  see — the  Lord 
forgive  him  ! — my  dear  madam,  Maraton  didn't  do  the  clean 
thing  with  me  ;  and,  the  worst  of  all  was,  he  made  a  preacher 
of  that  nigger  of  his.  The  principle  is  a  very  bad  one  for 
nigger  property  to  contend  for ;  and  when  their  masters 
permit  it,  our  profession  is  upset ;  for,  whenever  a  nigger 
becomes  a  preacher,  he's  sure  to  be  a  profitable  investment 
for  his  owner.  There  is  where  it  injures  us  ;  and  we  have 


ELDER  PRAISEWORTHY  CHANGES  HIS  BUSINESS.  147 

no  redress,  because  the  nigger  preacher  is  his  master's 
property,  aud  his  master  can  make  him  preach,  or  do  what 
he  pleases  with  him,"  says  Mr.  Praiseworthy,  becoming 
extremely  serious. 

"  Ah  !  yes, — self  pinches  the  principles  ;  I  see  where  it 
is,  Elder,"  says  the  lady.  But  you  were  indiscreet,  given 
to  taking  at  times ;  aud  the  boy  Harry,  proving  himself 
quite  as  good  at  preaching,  destroyed  your  practice.  I 
wish  every  negro  knew  as  much  of  the  Bible  as  that  boy 
Harry.  There  would  be  no  fear  of  insurrections  ;  it  would 
be  the  greatest  blessing  that  ever  befell  the  South.  It 
would  make  some  of  your  Christians  blush, — perhaps 
ashamed." 

"  Ashamed !  ashamed  !  a  thing  little  used  the  way  times 
are,"  he  mutters,  fretting  his  fingers  through  his  bristly 
hair,  until  it  stands  erect  like  quills  on  a  porcupine's  back. 
This  done,  he  measuredly  adjusts  his  glasses  on  the  tip  of 
his  nose,  giving  his  tawny  visage  an  appearance  at  once 
strange  and  indicative  of  all  the  peculiarities  of  his  peculiar 
character.  "  It  wasn't  that,"  he  says,  "  Marston  did'nt 
get  dissatisfied  with  my  spiritual  conditions ;  it  was  the 
saving  made  by  the  negro's  preaching.  But,  to  my  new 
business,  which  so  touches  your  sensitive  feelings.  If  you 
will  honour  me,  my  dear  madam,  with  a  visit  at  my  hospital, 
I  am  certain  your  impressions  will  change,  and  you  will  do 
justice  to  my  motives." 

"  Indeed !"  interrupts  the  lady,  quickly,  "  nothing  would 
give  me  more  gratification, — I  esteem  any  person  engaged 
in  a  laudable  pursuit ;  but  if  philanthropy  be  expressed 
through  the  frailties  of  speculation, — especially  where  it  is 
carried  out  in  the  buying  and  selling  of  afflicted  men  and 
women,  —I  am  willing  to  admit  the  age  of  progress  to  have 
got  ah^ad  of  me.  However,  Elder,  1  suppose  you  go  upon 
the  principle  of  what  is  not  lost  to  sin  being  gained  to  the 
Lord :  and  if  your  sick  property  die  pious,  the  knowledge 
of  it  is  a  sufficient  recompense  for  the  loss."  Thus  saying, 
she  readily  accepted  the  Elder's  kind  invitation,  and, 
ordering  a  basket  of  prepared  nourishment,  which,  together 
with  the  carriage,  was  soon  ready,  she  accompanied  him  to 
his  infirmary.  They  drove  through  narrow  lanes  and  streets, 
lined  with  small  dilapidated  cottages,  and  reached  a  wooden 
tenement  near  the  suburb  of  the  city  of  C .  It 


148        ELDER  PRAISEWORTHY  CHANGES  HIS  BUSINESS. 

was  surrounded  by  a  lattice  fence,  the  approach  being 
through  a  gate,  on  which  was  inscribed,  "  Mr.  Praise- 
worthy's  Infirmary  ;  "  and  immediately  below  this,  in  small 
letters,  was  the  significant  notice,  "  Planters  having  the 
cholera  and  other  prevailing  diseases  upon  their  plantations 
will  please  take  notice  that  I  am  prepared  to  pay  the 
highest  price  for  the  infirm  and  other  negroes  attacked  with 
the  disease.  Offers  will  be  made  for  the  most  doubtful 
cases !" 

"  Elder  Praiseworthy  !  "  ejaculates  the  lady,  starting  back, 
and  stopping  to  read  the  strange  sign.  " '  Offers  will  be 
made  for  the  most  doubtful  cases!'"  she  mutters,  turning 
towards  him  with  a  look  of  melancholy.  "  "What  thoughts, 
feelings,  sentiments !  That  means,  that  unto  death  you 
have  a  pecuniary  interest  in  their  bodies ;  and,  for  a  price, 
you  will  interpose  between  their  owners  and  death.  The 
mind  so  grotesque  as  to  conceive  such  a  purpose  should  be 
restrained, lest  it  trifle  with  life  unconsciously." 

"You  see,"  interrupts  Mr.  Praiseworthy,  looking  more 
serious  than  ever,  "  It's  the  life  saved  to  the  nigger ;  he's 
grateful  for  it ;  and  if  they  ain't  pious  just  then,  it  gives 
them  time  to  consider,  to  prepare  themselves.  My  little 
per  centage  is  small — it's  a  mean  commission ;  and  if  it 
were  not  for  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  how  much  good  I 
do,  it  wouldn't  begin  to  pay  a  professional  gentleman." 
As  the  Elder  concludes  his  remarks,  melancholy  sounds  are 
breaking  forth  in  frightful  discord.  From  strange  mur- 
murings  it  rises  into  loud  wailings  and  implorings.  "  Take 
me,  good  Lord,  to  a  world  of  peace  !"  sounds  in  her  ears,  as 
they  approach  through  a  garden  and  enter  a  door  that 
opens  into  a  long  room,  a  store-house  of  human  infirmity, 
where  moans,  cries,  and  groans  are  made  a  medium  of 
traffic.  The  room,  about  thirty  feet  long  and  twenty  wide, 
is  rough-boarded,  contains  three  tiers  of  narrow  berths,  one 
above  the  other,  encircling  its  walls.  Here  and  there  on 
the  floor  are  cots,  which  Mr.  Praiseworthy  informs  us  are  for 
those  whose  cases  he  would  not  give  much  for.  Black  nurses 
are  busily  attending  the  sick  property ;  some  are  carrying 
bowls  of  gruel,  others  rubbing  limbs  and  quieting  the  cries 
of  the  frantic,  and  again  supplying  water  to  quench  thirst. 
On  a  round  table  that  stands  in  the  centre  of  the  room  is  a 
large  medicine-chest,  disclosing  papers,  pills,  powders, 


ELDER  PRAISEWORTHY  CHANGES  HTS  BUSINESS.        149 

phials,  and  plasters,  strewn  about  in  great  disorder.  A 
bedlam  of  ghastly  faces  presents  itself, — dark,  haggard,  and 
frantic  with  the  pains  of  the  malady  preying  upon  the 
victims.  One  poor  wretch  springs  from  his  couch,  crying, 
"  Oh,  death !  death!  come  soon!"  and  his  features  glare 
with  terror.  Again  he  utters  a  wild  shriek,  and  bounds 
round  the  room,  looking  madly  at  one  and  another,  as  if 
chased  by  some  furious  animal.  The  figure  of  a  female, 
whose  elongated  body  seems  ready  to  sink  under  its  disease, 
sits  on  a  little  box  in  the  corner,  humming  a  dolorous  air, 
and  looking  with  glassy  eyes  pensively  around  the  room  at 
those  stretched  in  their  berths.  For  a  few  seconds  she  is 
quiet ;  then,  contorting  her  face  into  a  deep  scowl,  she 
gives  vent  to  the  most  violent  bursts  of  passion, — holds  her 
long  black  hair  above  her  head,  assumes  a  tragic  attitude, 
threatens  to  distort  it  from  the  scalp.  "  That  one's  lost  her 
mind — she's  fitty;  but  I  think  the  devil  has  something  to 
do  with  her  fits.  And,  though  you  wouldn't  think  it,  she's 
just  as  harmless  as  can  be,"  Mr.  Praiseworthy. coolly  remarks, 
looking  at  Mrs.  Bosebrook,  hoping  she  will  say  something 
encouraging  in  reply.  The  lady  only  replies  by  asking  him 
if  he  purchased  her  from  her  owner? 

Mr.  Praiseworthy  responds  in  the  affirmative,  adding 
that  she  doesn't  seem  to  like  it  much.  He,  however,  has 
strong  hopes  of  curing  her  mind,  getting  it  "  in  fix  "  again, 
and  making  a  good  penny  on  her.  "  She's  a'most  white, 
and,  unfortunately,  took  a  liking  to  a  young  man  down 
town.  Marston  owned  her  then,  and,  being  a  friend  of 
hers,  wouldn't  allow  it,  and  it  took  away  her  senses ;  he 
thought  her  malady  incurable,  and  sold  her  to  me  for  a 
little  or  nothing,"  he  continues,  with  great  complacency. 

This  poor  broken  flower  of  misfortune  holds  down  her 
head  as  the  lady  approaches,  gives  a  look  of  melancholy 
expressive  of  shame  and  remorse.  "  She's  sensitive  for  a 
nigger,  and  the  only  one  that  has  said  anything  about  being 
put  among  men,"  Mr.  Praiseworthy  remarks,  advancing  a 
few  steps,  and  then  going  from  berth  to  berth,  descanting 
on  the  prospects  of  his  sick,  explaining  their  various 
diseases,  their  improvements,  and  his  doubts  of  the  dying. 
The  lady  watches  all  his  movements,  as  if  more  intently 
interested  in  Mr.  Praiseworthy's  strange  character.  "  And 
here's  one,"  he  says,  "  I  fear  I  shall  lose  ;  and  if  I  do,  there's 


150       ELDER  PRAISEWORTHY  CHAKGES  HIS  BUSINESS. 

fifty  dollars  gone,  slap !  "  and  he  points  to  an  emaciated 
yellow  man,  whose  body  is  literally  a  crust  of  sores,  and 
whose  painful  implorings  for  water  and  nourishment  are 
deep  and  touching. 

"  Poor  wretch !"  Mr.  Praiseworthy  exclaims,  "  I  wish 
I'd  never  bought  him — it's  pained  my  feelings  so ;  but  I 
did  it  to  save  his  life  when  he  was  most  dead  with  the 
rheumatics,  and  was  drawn  up  as  crooked  as  branch  cord- 
wood.  And  then,  after  I  had  got  the  cinques  out  of  him — 
after  nearly  getting  him  straight  for  a  '  prime  fellow' 
(good  care  did  the  thing),  he  took  the  water  on  the  chest, 
and  is  grown  out  like  that."  He  points  coolly  to  the 
sufferer's  breast,  which  is  fearfully  distended  with  disease; 
saying  that,  "  as  if  that  wasn't  enough,  he  took  the  lepors, 
and  it's  a  squeak  if  they  don't  end  him."  He  pities  the 
"  crittur,"  but  has  done  all  he  can  for  him,  which  he  would 
have  done  if  he  hadn't  expected  a  copper  for  selling  him 
when  cured.  "So  you  see,  madam,"  he  reiterates,  "it 
isn't  all  profit.  I  paid  a  good  price  for  the  poor  skeleton, 
have  had  all  my  trouble,  and  shall  have  no  gain — except  the 
recompense  of  feeling.  There  was  a  time  when  I  might 
have  shared  one  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  by  him,  but  I  felt 
humane  towards  him  ;  didn't  want  him  to  slide  until  he 
was  a  No.  1."  Thus  the  Elder  sets  forth  his  own  goodness  of 
heart. 

"Pray,  what  do  you  pay  a  head  for  them,  Mr.  Praiseworthy?" 
enquires  the  lady,  smoothing  her  hand  over  the  feverish  head 
of  the  poor  victim,  as  the  carnatic  of  her  cheek  changed  to 
pallid  languor.  Pursuing  her  object  with  calmness,  she 
determined  not  to  display  her  emotions  until  fully  satisfied 
how  far  the  Elder  would  go. 

"  That,  madam,  depends  on  cases  ;  cripples  are  not  worth 
much.  But,  now  and  then,  we  get  a  legless  fellow  what's 
sound  in  body,  can  get  round  sprightly,  and  such  like ;  and, 
seeing  how  we  can  make  him  answer  a  sight  of  purposes, 
he'll  bring  something,"  he  sedately  replies,  with  muscles 
unmoved.  "  Cases  what  doctors  give  up  as  '  done  gone,' 
we  gets  for  ten  and  twenty  dollars ;  cases  not  hanging 
under  other  diseases,  we  give  from  thirty  to  fifty — and  so 
on  !  Remember,  however,  you  must  deduct  thirty  per  cent, 
for  death.  At  times,  where  you  would  make  two  or  three 
hundred  dollars  by  curing  one,  and  saving  his  life,  you  lose 


ELDEE  PRAISEWORTHY  CHANGES  HIS  BPSIXESS.        151 

three,  sometimes  half-a-dozen  head."  The  Elder  consoles 
his  feelings  with  the  fact  that  it  is  not  all  profit,  looks 
highly  gratified,  puts  a  large  cut  of  tobacco  in  his  mouth, 
thanks  Q-od  that  the  common  school-bill  didn't  pass  in  the 
legislature,  and  that  his  business  is  more  humane  than 
people  generally  admit. 

"  How  many  have  you  in  all  ?" 

"  The  number  of  head,  I  suppose  ?  "Well,  there's  about 
thirty  sick,  and  ten  well  ones  what  I  sent  to  market  last 
week.  Did-n-'t — make -a — good  market,  though,"  he 
drawls  out. 

"  You  are  alone  in  the  business  ?" 

"  Well,  no ;  I've  a  partner — Jones ;  there's  a  good  many 
phases  in  the  business,  you  see,  and  one  can't  get  along. 
Jones  was  a  nigger-broker,  and  Jones  and  me  went  into 
partnership  to  do  the  thing  smooth  up,  on  joint  account. 
I  does  the  curing,  and  he  does  the  selling,  and  we  both 
turns  a  dollar  or  two — " 

"  Oh,  horrors  S"  interrupts  the  lady,  looking  at  Mr. 
Praiseworthy  sarcastically.  "  Murder  will  out,  men's  senti 
ments  will  betray  them,  selfishness  will  get  above  them  all; 
ornament  them  as  you  will,  their  ornaments  will  drop, — 
naked  self  will  uncover  herself  and  be  the  deceiver." 

"Not  at  all!"  the  Elder  exclaims,  in  his  confidence. 
"  The  Lord's  will  is  in  everything ;  without  it  we  could 
not  battle  with  the  devil ;  we  relieve  suffering  humanity, 
and  the  end  justifies  the  means." 

"You  should  have  left  out  the  means:  it  is  only  the  end 
you  aim  at." 

"  That's  like  accusing  Deacon  Seabury  of  impious  motives, 
because  he  shaves  notes  at  an  illegal  interest.  It's  worse 
— because  what  the  law  makes  legal  the  church  should  not 
make  sinful."  This  is  Praiseworthy's  philosophy,  which  he 
proclaims  while  forgetting  the  existence  of  a  law  of  con 
science  having  higher  claims  than  the  technicalities  of 
statutes.  "We  must  look  to  that  to  modify  our  selfishness, 
to  strengthen  our  love  for  human  laws  when  founded  in 
justice. 

"  And  who  is  this  poor  girl?"  enquires  Mrs.  Eosebrook, 
stepping  softly  forward,  and  taking  her  by  the  hand. 

"  Marston's  once ;  some  Indian  in  her,  they  say.  She's 
right  fair  looks  when  she's  herself.  Marston's  in  trouble 


"152  ELDER  PRAISEWORTHY  CHANGES  HIS  BUSINESS. 

now,  and  the  cholera  has  made  sad  havoc  of  his  niggers," 
Mr.  Praiseworthy  replies,  placing  a  chair,  and  motioning  his 
hand  for  the  lady  to  be  seated.  The  lady  seats  herself 
beside  the  girl, — takes  her  hand. 

"  Yes,  missus ;  God  bless  good  missus.  Te  don't  know 
me  now,"  mutters  the  poor  girl,  raising  her  wild  glassy 
eyes,  as  she  parts  the  long  black  hair  from  her  forehead : 
"  you  don't  know  me  ;  I'm  changed  so !" 

"  My  child,  who  has  made  you  this  wretch  ?"  says  the 
good  lady,  pressing  her  tawny  hand. 

"  My  child !"  she  exclaims,  with  emphasis :  "  My  child 
Nicholas, — my  child !  Missus,  save  Nicholas ;  he  is  my 
child.  Oh !  do  save  him !"  and,  afc  if  terrified,  she  grasps 
tighter  the  lady's  hand,  while  her  emotions  swell  into  a 
frantic  outburst  of  grief.  "  Nicholas,  my  child !"  she  shrieks, 

"  She  will  corne  to,  soon :  it's  only  one  of  her  strange 
fits  of  aberration.  Sometimes  I  fling  cold  water  over  her ; 
and,  if  it's  very  cold,  she  soon  comes  to,"  Mr.  Praiseworthy 
remarks,  as  he  stands  unmoved,  probably  contemplating 
the  goodness  of  a  forgiving  God.  What  magic  simplicity 
lies  concealed  in  his  nature ;  and  yet  it  is  his  trade,  sanc 
tioned  by  the  law  of  a  generous  state.  Let  us  bless  the 
land  that  has  given  us  power  to  discover  the  depths  to 
which  human  nature  can  reduce  itself,  and  what  man  can 
make  himself  when  human  flesh  and  blood  become  iiicro 
things  of  traffic. 

"  That  gal's  name  is  Ellen.  I  wish  I  knew  all  that  has 
turned  up  at  Marston's,"  remarks  the  Elder. 

"Ellen!"  ejaculates  the  lady,  looking  at  her  more 
intently,  placing  her  left  hand  under  her  chin.  "  Not 
Ellen  Juvarna?" 

"  Tes,  good  missus— the  lady  has  distributed  her  nourish 
ment  among  the  sick  —  that's  my  name,"  she  says,  raising 
her  eyes  with  a  look  of  melancholy  that  tells  the  tale  of  her 
troubles.  Again  her  feelings  subside  into  quiet ;  she  seems 
in  meditation.  "  I  knowed  you  once,  good  missus,  but  you 
don't  know  me  now,  I'm  changed  so !"  she  whispers,  the 
good  lady  holding  her  hand,  as  a  tear  courses  down  her 
cheek — "  I'm  changed  BO  !"  sh'e  whispers,  shaking  her  head. 


CHAPTEE  XII. 


A  FATHER  TRIES  TO  BE  A  FATUEB. 

WE  have  conducted  the  reader  through  scenes  perhaps 
unnecessary  to  our  narration,  nevertheless  associated  with 
and  appertaining  to  the  object  of  our  work.  And,  in  this 
sense,  the  reader  cannot  fail  to  draw  from  them  lessons 
developing  the  corrupting  influences  of  a  body  politic  that 
gives  one  man  power  to  sell  another.  They  go  to  prove 
how  soon  a  man  may  forget  himself, — how  soon  he  may 
become  a  demon  in  the  practice  of  abominations,  how  soon 
he  can  reconcile  himself  to  things  that  outrage  the  most 
sacred  ties  of  our  social  being.  And,  too,  consoling  him 
self  with  the  usages  of  society,  making  it  right,  gives 
himself  up  to  the  most  barbarous  practices. 

AVhen.  we  left  Marston  in  a  former  chapter,  he  had  become 
sensible  of  the  wrong  he  so  long  assisted  to  inflict  upon 
innocent  and  defenceless  persons  ;  and,  stung  with  remorse 
made  painful  by  the  weight  of  misfortune,  had  avowed 
his  object  of  saving  his  children.  Yet,  strange  as  it  may 
seem,  so  inured  were  his  feelings  to  those  arbitrary 
customs  which  slave-owners  are  educated  to  view  as  privi 
leges  guaranteed  in  the  rights  of  a  peculiar  institution 
-the  rights  of  property  in  the  being  slave — that,  although 
conscious  of  his  duty  toward  the  children,  no  sooner  had 
the  mother  of  'Nicholas  been  attacked  with  cholera,  than  he 
sold  her  to  the  Elde#  Pemberton  Praiseworthy,  in  whose 
infirmary  we  have  just  left  her.  The  Elder,  since  his  dis 
charge  from  parochial  life, — from  ministering  the  gospel,  has 
transferred  his  mission  to  that  of  being  the  partner  in  a 
firm,  the  ostensible  business  of  which  is  purchasing  the 
sick,  the  living,  and  the  dying. 

Do  not  blush,  reader;  you  know  not  how  elastic  dealing 
in  human  kind  makes  man's  feelings.  Gold  is  the  beacon- 
light  of  avarice  ;  for  it  man  will  climb  over  a  catacomb  of 
the  dead.  In  this  instance  the  very  man — Marston — who, 


154  A  FATHER  TRIES  TO  BE  A  FATHER. 

touched  by  misfortune,  began  to  cherish  a  father's  natural 
feelings,  could  see  nothing  but  property  in  the  mother, 
though  he  knew  that  mother  to  be  born  free.  Perhaps  it  was 
not  without  some  compunction  of  feelings — perhaps  it  was 
done  to  soften  the  separation  at  that  moment  so  necessary 
to  the  preservation  of  the  children.  But  we  must  leave 
this  phase  of  tbo  picture,  and  turn  to  another. 

Graspum  had  diligently  watched  Marston's  affairs,  and 
through  the  cunning  and  perseverance  of  Romescos,  care 
fully  noted  every  movement  on  the  plantation.  Each  death 
from  cholera  was  reported, — the  change  in  Marston's  feelings 
observed  and  provided  against, — every  stage  of  the  crop 
carefully  watched.  Graspum,  however,  had  secured  him 
self  in  the  real  estate,  and  gave  little  heed  to  the  epidemic 
that  was  carrying  off  the  negro  property.  Finally,  to  pass 
over  several  stages  in  the  decline  of  Marston's  affairs,  the 
ravages  of  the  disease  continued  until  but  forty-three 
negroes,  old  and  young,  were  left  on  the  old  homestead. 
The  culminating  point  had  arrived.  He  was  in  the  grasp  of 
Graspum,  and  nothing  could  save  him  from  utter  ruin. 
It  had  lately  been  proved  that  the  Eovero  family,  instead 
of  being  rich,  were  extremely  poor,  their  plantation  having 
long  been  under  a  mortgage,  the  holder  of  which  was 
threatening  foreclosure. 

"With  Marston,  an  amount  of  promiscuous  debts  had 
accumulated  so  far  beyond  his  expectation  that  he  was 
without  means  of  discharging  them.  His  affairs  became 
more  and  more  confused,  while  the  amount  of  his  liabilities 
remained  a  perfects  obscurity  to  the  community.  Humour 
began  to  disseminate  his  troubles,  suspicion  summoned  her 
charges,  and  town-talk  left  little  unadded  ;  while  those  of 
his  creditors  who  had  been  least  suspicious  of  his  wealth 
and  honour  became  the  most  importunate  applicants  for 
their  claims.  At  length,  driven  by*  the  pressure  of  the 
times,  he  calls  Clotilda  to  him,  and  tells  her  that  he  ia 
resolved  to  send  Annette  and  Nicholas  into  the  city,  where 
they  will  remain  in  the  care  of  a  coloured  woman,  until  an 
opportunity  offers  of  sending  them  to  the  north.  He  is  fond 
of  Clotilda, — tells  her  of  the  excitement  concerning  hia 
business  affairs,  and  impresses  her  with  the  necessity  of 
preserving  calmness ;  it  is  requisite  to  the  evasion  of  any 
ulterior  consequence  that  may  be  brought  upon  him.  Every- 


A  FATHEB  TBIES  XO  BE  A  FATHER.          155 

thing  hangs  upon  a  thread — a  political  thread,  a  lawful 
thread — a  thread  that  holds  the  fate  of  thirty,  forty,  or  fifty 
human  beings — that  separates  them  from  that  verge  of 
uncertainty  upon  which  a  straw  may  turn  the  weal  or  woe 
of  their  lives.  "When  I  get  them  comfortably  cared  for, 
Clotilda,  I  will  send  for  you.  Nicholas's  mother  has  gone, 
but  you  shall  be  a  mother  to  them  both,"  lie  says,  looking 
upon  her  seriously,  as  if  contemplating  the  trouble  before 
him  in  the  attempt  to  rescue  his  children. 

"You  will  not  send  Annette  away  without  me?"  she 
inquires,  quickly,  falling  on  her  knees  at  his  side,  and  re 
iterating,  "  Don't  send  Annette  away  without  me, — don't, 
mas'r  !" 

"  The  separation  will  only  be  for  a  few  days.  Annette 
shall  be  educated— I  care  not  for  the  laws  of  our  free  land 
against  it — and  together  you  shall  go  where  your  parentage 
will  not  shame  you, — where  you  may  ornament  society,"  he 
replies,  as  Clotilda's  face  lights  up  with  satisfaction.  With 
such  an  assurance — she  does  not  comprehend  the  tenour  of 
his  troubles' — her  freedom  seems  at  hand  :  it  excites  her  to 
joy.  Marston  retires  and  she  takes  his  seat,  writes  a  note 
to  Maxwell,  who  is  then  in  the  city,  relating  what  has 
transpired,  and  concluding  with  a  request  that  he  will  call 
and  see  her. 

A  few  days  passed,  and  the  two  children  were  sent  into  the 
city  and  placed  in  the  charge  of  a  free  woman,  with  instruc 
tions  to  keep  them  secreted  for  several  weeks.  This  move 
ment  being  discovered  by  Bomescos,  was  the  first  signal 
for  an  onset  of  creditors.  Graspum,  always  first  to  secure 
himself,  in  this  instance  compelled  Marston  to  succumb  to 
his  demands  by  threatening  to  disclose  the  crime  Lorenzo 
had  committed.  Forcing  him  to  fulfil  the  obligation  in  the 
bond,  he  took  formal  possession  of  the  plantation.  This 
increased  the  suspicion  of  fraud;  there  was  a  mystery  some 
where, — nobody  could  solve  it.  Marston,  even  his  former 
friends  declared,  was  a  swindler.  He  could  not  be  honestly- 
indebted  in  so  large  an  amount  to  Grraspum ;  nor  could  he 
be  so  connected  with  such  persons  without  something  being 
wrong1  somewhere.  Friends  began  to  insinuate  that  they 
had  been,  misled  j  and  not  a  few  among  those  who  had 
enjoyed  his  hospitality  were  first  inclined  to  scandalise  hui 
integrity.  Graspum  had  foreseen  all  this,  and,  with 

11 


166         A  FATHEE  TEIES  TO  BE  A  FATHEB. 

Bomescos,  who  had  purloined  the  bill  of  sale,  was  prepared 
to  do  any  amount  of  swearing.  Marston  is  a  victim  of 
circumstances;  his  proud  spirit  prompts  him  to  preserve 
from  disgrace  the  name  of  his  family,  and  thus  he  the  more 
easily  yielded  to  the  demands  of  the  betrayer.  Hence, 
Graspum,  secure  in  his  ill-gotten  booty,  leaves  his  victim  to 
struggle  with  those  who  come  after  him. 

A  few  weeks  pass  over,  and  the  equity  of  Graspum's 
claim  is  questioned :  his  character  for  honour  being  doubted, 
gives  rise  to  much  comment.  The  whole  thing  is  denounced 
— proclaimed  a  concerted  movement  to  defraud  the  rightful 
creditors.  And  yet,  knowing  the  supremacy  of  money 
over  law  in  a  slave  state,  Graspum's  power,  the  revenge  his 
followers  inflict,  and  their  desperate  character,  not  one 
dare  come  forward  to  test  the  validity  of  the  debt.  They 
know  and  fear  the  fierce  penalty :  they  are  forced  to  fall 
back, — to  seize  his  person,  his  property,  his  personal  effects. 

In  this  dilemma,  Marston  repairs  to  the  city,  attempts  to 
make  an  arrangement  with  his  creditors,  singularly  fails ;  he 
can  effect  nothing.  Wherever  he  goes  his  salutation  meets 
a  cold,  measured  response ;  whisper  marks  him  a  swindler. 
The  knife  stabs  deep  into  the  already  festered  wound. 
Misfortune  bears  heavily  upon  a  sensitive  mind ;  but  accu 
sation  of  wrong,  when  struggling  under  trials,  stabs  deepest 
into  the  heart,  and  bears  its  victim  suffering  to  the  very 
depths  of  despair. 

To  add  to  this  combination  of  misfortunes,  on  his  return 
to  the  plantation  he  found  it  deserted, — a  sheriff's  keeper 
guarding  his  personal  effects,  his  few  remaining  negroes 
seized  upon  and  marched  into  the  city  for  the  satisfaction  of 
his  debts.  Clotilda  has  been  seized  upon,  manacled,  driven 
to  the  city,  committed  to  prison.  Another  creditor  has 
found  out  the  hiding-place  of  the  children ;  directs  the 
sheriff,  who  seizes  upon  them,  like  property  of  their  kind, 
and  drags  them  to  prison.  Oh,  that  prison  walls  were 
made  for  torturing  the  innocent ! 

Marston  is  left  poor  upon  the  world ;  Ellen  Juvarna  is 
in  the  hands  of  a  resurrectionist ;  Nicholas — a  bright  boy  he 
has  grown — is  within  the  dark  confines  of  a  prison  cell, 
along  with  Clotilda  and  Annette.  Melancholy  broods  over 
the  plantation  now.  The  act  of  justice, — the  right  which 
Marston  saw  through  wrong,  and  which  he  had  intended  to 


A  fATHEH  TRIES  TO  BE  A  FATHEB.          157 

carry  out, — is  now  beyond  his  power.  Stripped  of  those 
comforts  he  had  enjoyed,  his  offspring  carried  off  as  trophies 
of  avarice, — perhaps  for  sale  to  some  ruffian,  who  would  set 
a  price  upon  their  beauty, — he  sits  down,  sick  at  heart,  and 
weeps  a  child's  tears.  The  mansion,  so  long  the  scene  of 
pleasure  and  hospitality,  is  like  a  deserted  barrack ;  — still, 
gloomy,  cold,  in  the  absence  of  familiar  faces.  No  servant 
comes  to  call  him  master, — Dandy  and  Enoch  are  gone ; 
and  those  familiar  words,  so  significant  of  affection  between 
master  and  slave,  "  Glad  to  see  ye  home,  mas'r,"  no  longer 
sounded  in  his  ears.  Even  his  overseer  has  become  alarmed, 
and  like  the  rest  levied  for  arrears  of  wages. 

There  is  nothing  for  Marston  but  to  give  up  all, — to  leave 
the  home  of  his  childhood,  his  manhood,  his  happier  days. 
He  is  suddenly  reminded  that  there  is  virtue  in  fortitude ; 
and,  as  he  gazes  round  the  room,  the  relics  of  happier  days 
redouble  his  conviction  of  the  evil  he  has  brought  upon 
himself  by  straying  from  the  paths  of  rectitude.  Indeed, 
so  sudden  was  his  fall  from  distinction,  that  the  scene  around 
him  seemed  like  a  dream,  from  which  he  had  just  awoke  to 
question  its  precipitancy.  "A  sheriff  is  here  now,  and 
I  am  a  mere  being  of  sufferance,"  he  says,  casting  a  moody 
glance  around  the  room,  as  if  contemplating  the  dark 
prospect  before  him.  A  few  moments'  pause,  and  he  rises, 
Avalks  to  the  window,  looks  out  upon  the  serene  scene  spread 
out  before  the  mansion.  There  is  the  river,  on  which  he  has 
spent  so  many  pleasant  hours,  calmly  winding  its  way 
through  deep  green  foliage  mellowed  by  the  moonlight. 
Its  beauties  only  remind  him  of  the  past.  He  walks  away, — 
struggles  to  forget,  to  look  above  his  trials.  He  goes  to  the 
old  side-board  that  has  so  long  given  forth  its  cheer  ;  that, 
too,  is  locked!  "Locked  to  me!"  he  says,  attempting  to 
open  its  doors.  A  sheriff's  lock  hangs  upon  them.  Accus 
tomed  to  every  indulgence,  each  check  indicated  a  doubt  of 
his  honour,  wounding  his  feelings.  The  smaller  the  restraint 
the  deeper  did  it  pierce  his  heart.  "While  in  this  despond 
ing  mood,  vainly  endeavouring  to  gain  resolution  to  carry 
him  through,  a  gentle  rap  is  heard  at  the  door.  "Who  can 
it  be  at  this  hour  ?  he  questions  to  himself.  N"o  servant  is 
near  him  ;  servants  have  all  been  led  into  captivity  for  the 
satisfaction  of  debts.  He  approaches  the  door  and  opens 
it  himself,  looking  cautiously  into  the  corridor.  There, 


158  A  FATHER  TRIES  TO  BE  A  FATHER. 

crouched  in  a  niche,  alternately  presenting  fear  and  joy, 
— fear  lest  he  be  seen  by  the  enemy,  and  joy  to  see  his 
master, — is  a  dark  figure  with  the  familiar  face  of  Daddy 
Bob, — Bob  of  the  old  plantation.  The  old,  faithful  servant 
puts  out  his  wrinkled  hand  nervously,  saying,  "  Oh,  good 
mas'r  !"  He  has  looked  up  to  Marston  with  the  same  love 
that  an  affectionate  child  does  to  a  kind  parent ;  he  has 
enjoyed  mas'r's  warm  welcome,  nurtured  his  confidence, 
had  his  say  in  directing  the  affairs  of  the  plantation,  and 
watched  the  frailties  that  threatened  it. 

"Why,  Daddy  Bob!     Can  it  be  you?"  Marston  says, 
modulating  his  voice,  as  a  change  comes  over  his  feelings. 

"  Dis  is  me,  mas'r  ;  it  is  me,"  again  says  the  old  man.  He 
is  wet  with  the  night  dew,  but  his  heart  is  warm  and  affec 
tionate.  Marston  seizes  his  hand  as  if  to  return  the  old 
man's  gratitude,  and  leads  him  into  the  room,  smiling. 
"  Sit  down,  Bob,  sit  down  !"  he  says,  handing  him  a  chair. 
The  old  servant  stands  at  the  chair  hesitatingly,  doubting 
his  position.  "  Fear  nothing,  Bob ;  sit  down.  You  are 
my  best  friend,"  Marston  continues.  Bob  takes  a  seat, 
lays  his  cap  quietly  upon  the  floor,  smiles  to  see  old  mas'r, 
but  don't  feel  just  right  because  there's  something  wrong: 
he  draws  the  laps  of  his  jacket  together,  covers  the  remnant 
of  a  shirt.  "  Mas'r,  what  be  da'  gwine  to  do  wid  de  old 
plantation  ?  Tings,  Bob  reckon,  b'nt  gwine  straight,"  he 
speaks,  looking  at  Marston  shyly.  The  old  slave  knew  his 
master's  heart,  and  had  waited  for  him  to  unfold  its, beat 
ings  ;  but  the  kind  heart  of  the  master  yielded  to  the  burden 
that  was  upon  it,  and  never  more  so  than,  when  moved  by 
the  strong  attachment  evinced  by  the  old  man.  There  was 
mutual  sympathy  pourtrayed  in  the  tenderest  emotions. 
The  one  was  full  of  grief,  and,  if  touched  by  the  word  of 
a  friend,  would  overflow ;  the  other  was  susceptible  of 
kindness,  knew  something  had  befallen  his  master,  and  was 
ready  to  present  the  best  proofs  of  his  attachment. 

"And  how  did  you  get  here,  ray  old  faithful?"  inquires 
Marston,  drawing  nearer  to  him. 

"  "Well,  mas'r,  ye  see,  t'ant  just  so  wid  nigger  what  don' 
know  how  tings  is !  But,  Bob  up  t'  dese  tings.  I  sees 
Buckra,  what  look  as  if  he  hab  no  rights  on  dis  plantation, 
grab'n  up  all  de  folks.  And  Lor,'  mas'r,  old  Bob  could'nt 
leave  mas'r  no  how.  An,  den,  when  da'  begins  to  chain  de 


A  FATHEB,  TELES  TO  BE  A  FATHER.         159 

folks  up — da'  chain  up  old  Kachel,  mas'r ! — Old  Bob  feel  so 
de  {.lantation  war'nt  no-whare;  and  him  time  t'be  gwine. 
Da'h  an't  gwiue  t'  cotch  old  Bob,  and  carry  'm  way  from 
mas'r,  so  1  jist  cuin  possum  ober  dem — stows  away  yander, 
dowu  close  in  de  old  corn  crib, — " 

"And  you  eluded  the  sheriff  to  take  care  of  me,  did  you, 
Daddy?"  interrupts  Marston,  and  again  takes  the  old  man's 
hand. 

"  Oh,  mas'r,  Bob  ain't  white,  but  'is  feelins  get  so  fo'  h 
mas'r,  he  can't  speak  'em,"  the  old  slave  replies,  pearls 
glistening  in  his  eyes.  "  My  feelings  feel  so,  I  can't  speak 
'em  !"  And  with  a  brother's  fondness  he  shakes  his  master's 
hand. 

We  must  beg  the  reader's  indulgence  here  for  the  purpose 
of  making  a  few  remarks  upon  the  negro's  power  of  obser 
vation.  From  the  many  strange  disquisitions  that  have  been 
put  forward  on  the  mental  qualities  of  the  man  of  colour — 
more  particularly  the  African — few  can  be  selected  which 
have  not  had  for  their  object  his  disqualification.  His  power 
of  observation  has  been  much  undervalued  ;  but  it  has  been 
chiefly  by  those  who  judge  him  by  a  superficial  scale,  or 
from  a  selfish  motive.  In  the  position  of  mere  property,  he 
is,  of  necessity,  compelled  to  yield  all  claims  to  mental 
elevation.  And  yet,  forced  to  degradation,  there  are  few 
negroes  on  the  plantation,  or  in  the  spheres  of  labour,  who 
do  not  note  the  rise  and  fall  of  their  master's  fortunes,  study 
the  nature  and  prospects  of  the  crop,  make  enquiries  about 
the  market,  concoct  the  best  economy  in  managing  lands, 
and  consult  among  themselves  as  to  what  would  promote  the 
interests  of  the  whole.  So  far  is  this  carried  out,  that  in 
many  districts  a  rivalry  for  the  largest  amount  of  crop  on  a 
given  space  is  carried  on  among  the  slaves,  who  not  unfre- 
quently  "  chafe"  each  other  upon  the  superior  wealth  and 
talent  of  their  masters.  It  is  a  well-known  fact,  that 
John  C.  Calhoun's  slaves,  in  addition  to  being  extremely 
fond  of  him,  were  proud  and  boastful  of  his  talent. 

Daddy  Bob  is  an  exemplification.  The  faithful  old  slave 
had  become  sensible  of  something  wrong  on  the  plantation  : 
he  saw  the  sheriff  seizing  upon  the  families,  secreted  himself 
in  the  corn  crib,  and  fled  to  the  woods  when  they  were  out 
of  sight.  Here,  sheltered  by  the  myrtle,  he  remained  until 
midnight,  intently  watching  the  mansion  for  signs  of  old 


160         A  FATHEB  TBIE3  TO  BE  A  FATHER. 

mas'r."  Suddenly  a  light  glimmers  from  the  window  ;  the 
old  slave's  feelings  bound  with  joy  ;  he  feels  it  an  invitation 
for  him  to  return,  and,  leaving  his  hiding-place,  approaches 
the  house  stealthily,  and  descries  his  master  at  the  window. 
Confidence  returns,  his  joy  is  complete,  his  hopes  have  not 
misled  him.  Hungry  and  wet,  he  has  found  his  way  back  to 
master,  whose  face  at  the  window  gladdens  his  heart, — 
carries  him  beyond  the  bounds  of  caution.  Hence  the 
cordial  greeting  between  the  old  slave  and  his  indulgent 
master.  We  hear  the  oft-expressed  words — "Master!  I 
love  ye,  I  do  !"  Marston  gets  a  candle,  lights  the  old  man 
to  a  bed  in  the  attic,  bids  him  good  night,  and  retires. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

IN  WHICH  THE  EXTREMES  ABE  PRESENTED. 

WHILE  the  gloomy  prospect  we  have  just  presented  hovered 
over  Marston's  plantation,  proceedings  of  no  minor  im 
portance,  and  having  reference  to  this  particular  case,  are 
going  on  in  and  about  the  city.  Maxwell,  moved  by 
Clotilda's  implorings,  had  promised  to  gain  her  freedom  for 
her  ;  but  he  knew  the  penalty,  feared  the  result  of  a  failure, 
and  had  hesitated  to  make  the  attempt.  The  consequences 
were  upon  him,  he  saw  the  want  of  prompt  action,  and 
regretted  that  the  time  for  carrying  his  resolution  into  effect 
had  passed.  The  result  harassed  him  ;  he  saw  this  daughter 
of  misfortune,  on  her  bended  knees,  breathing  a  prayer  to 
Omnipotence  for  the  deliverance  of  her  child ;  he  remem 
bered  her  appeal  to  him,  imploring  him  to  deliver  her  from 
the  grasp  of  slavery,  from  that  licentiousness  which  the 
female  slave  is  compelled  to  bear.  He  saw  her  confiding  in 
him  as  a  deliverer, — the  sight  haunted  him  unto  madness  ! 
Her  child !  her  child  !  Yes,  that  offspring  in  which  her 
hopes  were  centered !  For  it  she  pleaded  and  pleaded  ;  for 
it  she  offered  to  sacrifice  her  own  happiness ;  for  it'  she 
invoked  the  all-protecting  hand.  That  child,  doomed  to  a 
life  of  chattel  misery  ;  to  serve  the  lusts  of  modern  barbarism 
in  a  country  where  freedom  and  civilization  sound  praises 
from  ocean  to  ocean  ;  to  be  obscured  in  the  darkness  and 
cruelty  of  an  institution  in  which  justice  is  scoffed,  where 
distress  has  no  listeners,  and  the  trap-keepers  of  men's  souls 
scorn  to  make  honest  recompense  while  human  flesh  and 
blood  are  weighed  in  the  scale  of  dollars  and  cents !  He 
trembles  before  the  sad  picture ;  remonstrances  and  en 
treaties  from  him  will  be  in  vain;  nor  can  he  seize  them 
and  carry  them  off.  His  life  might  be  forfeited  in  the 
attempt,  even  were  they  without  prison  walls.  JS^o !  il  is 
almost  hopeless.  In  the  narrow  confines  of  a  securely  grated 
cell,  where  thoughts  and  anxieties  waste  the  soul  in  disap 
pointment,  and  where  hopes  only  come  and  go  to  spread 

M 


!-"::2  EXTREMES  ARE  PRESENTED. 

time  with  grief,  he  could  only  see  her  and  her  child  as 
suffered.  The  spectacle  had  no  charm  ;  and  those  who  car 
ried  them  iiito  captivity  for  the  satisfaction  of  paltry  debts 
could  not  be  made  to  divest  themselves  of  the  self  in  nature. 
Cries  and  sobs  were  nothing, — such  were  poor  stock  for 
"  niggers"  to  have  ;  pains  and  anxieties  were  at  a  discount, 
chivalry  proclaimed  its  rule,  and  nothing  was  thought  well 
of  that  lessened  the  market  value  of  body  and  soul. 
Among  great,  generous,  hospitable,  and  chivalrous  men, 
such  things  could  only  be  weighed  in  the  common  scale  of 
trade. 

Again,  Maxwell  remembered  that  Marston  had  unfolded 
his  troubles  to  him,  and  being  a  mere  stranger  the  confidence 
warranted  mutual  reciprocity.  If  it  were  merely  an  act 
dictated  by  the  impulse  of  his  feelings  at  that  moment,  the 
secret  was  now  laid  broadly  open.  He  was  father  of  the 
children,  and,  sensible  of  their  critical  situation,  the  sting 
was  goading  him  to  their  rescue.  The  question  was — would 
he  interpose  and  declare  them  as  such  ?  Ah,  he  forgot 
it  was  not  the  lather's  assertion, — it  was  the  law.  The  crime 
of  being  property  was  inherited  from  the  mother.  Acknow 
ledging  them  his  children  would  neither  satisfy  law  nor  the 
creditors.  What  honourable  —  we  except  the  moderuly 
chivalrous — man  would  see  his  children  jostled  by  the 
ruffian  trader  ?  What  man,  with  feelings  less  sensitive  than 
iron,  would  see  his  child  sold  to  the  man-vender  for  purposes 
so  impious  that  heaven  and  earth  frowned  upon  them  ? 
And  yet  the  scene  was  no  uncommon  one ;  slavery  affords 
the  medium,  and  men,  laying  their  hearts  aside,  make  it 
serve  their  pockets.  Those  whom  it  would  insult  to  call  less 
than  gentlemen  have  covered  their  scruples  with  the  law, 
while  consigning  their  own  offspring  to  the  hand  of  an 
auctioneer.  Man  property  is  subvervient  material, — woman 
is  even  more  ;  for  where  her  virtue  forms  its  tissues,  and  can 
be  sold,  the  issue  is  indeed  deplorable.  Again,  where  vice 
is  made  a  pleasure,  and  the  offspring  of  it  become  a  burden 
on  our  hands,  slavery  affords  the  most  convenient  medium  of 
getting  rid  of  the  incumb ranee.  They  sell  it,  perhaps  pro 
fitably,  and  console  themselves  with  the  happy  recollection 
of  what  a  great  thing  it  is  to  live  in  a  free  country,  where 
one  may  get  rid  of  such  things  profitably.  It  may  save  our 
shame  in  the  eyes  of  man,  but  Grod  sees  all, — records  the 
wrong ! 


EXTREMES  ARE  PRESENTED.  163 

Thus  Maxwell  contemplated  the  prospects  before  him. 
At  length  he  resolved  to  visit  Marston  upon  his  plantation, 
impress  him  with  the  necessity  of  asserting  their  freedom,  in 
order  to  save  them  from  being  sold  with  the  effects  of  the 
estate. 

He  visits  Marston' s  mansion, — finds  the  picture  sadly 
changed  ;  his  generous  friend,  who  has  entertained  him  so 
hospitably,  sits  in  a  little  ante-chamber,  pensively,  as  jf 
something  of  importance  has  absorbed  his  attention.  No 
well-dressed  servants  welcome  him  with  their  smiles  and 
grimaces ;  no  Franconia  greets  him  with  her  vivacity,  her 
pleasing  conversation,  her  frankness  and  fondness  for  the 
old  servants.  No  table  is  decked  out  with  the  viands  of  the 
season — Marston's  viands  have  turned  into  troubles, — lone 
liness  reigns  throughout.  It  is  night,  and  nothing  but  the 
dull  sound  of  the  keeper's  tread  breaks  the  silence.  His 
(Maxwell's)  mission  is  a  delicate  one.  It  may  be  con 
strued  as  intrusive,  he  thinks.  But  its  importance  out 
weighs  the  doubt,  and,  though  he  approaches  with  caution, 
is  received  with  that  embrace  of  friendship  which  a  gentle 
man  can  claim  as  his  own  when  he  feels  the  justice  of  the 
mission  of  him  who  approaches,  even  though  its  tenor  be 
painful.  Maxwell  hesitated  for  afew  moments,looked  silently 
upon  the  scene.  Trouble  had  already  left  its  prints  of  sad 
ness  upon  Marston's  countenance ;  the  past,  full  of  happy 
associations,  floated  in  his  mind ;  the  future  — ah  !  that 
was .  Happily,  at  that  moment,  he  had  been  contem 
plating  the  means  by  which  he  could  'save  Clotilda  and  the 
children.  He  rises,  approaches  Maxwell,  hands  him  a 
chair,  listens  to  his  proposal.  "  If  I  can  assist  you,  we  will 
save  them,"  concludes  Maxwell. 

"  That,"  he  replies,  doubtingly,  "  my  good  friend,  has  en 
gaged  my  thoughts  by  night  and  day — has  made  me  most 
uneasy.  Misfortune  likes  sympathy ;  your  words  are  as 
soothing  as  praiseworthy.  I  will  defend  my  children  if 
every  creditor  call  me  swindler.  I  will  destroy  the  infernal 
bill  of  sale, — I  will  crush  the  hell-born  paper  that  gives  life 
to  deeds  so  blocdy, — I  will  free  them  from  the  shame  !"  Thus, 
his  teelings  excited  to  the  uttermost,  he  rises  from  his  seat, 
approaches  a  cupboard,  draws  forth  the  small  trunk  we  have 
before  described,  unlocks  it.  "  That  fatal  document  is  here, 
I  put  it  here,  I  will  destroy  it  now ;  I  will  save  them  through 


164  EXTREMES  ABE  PRESENTED. 

its  destruction.  There  shall  be  no  evidence  of  Clotilda's 
mother  being  a  slave,  oh  no !"  he  mutters  rapidly,  running 
his  fingers  over  packages,  papers,  and  documents.  Again  he 
glances  vacantly  over  the  whole  file,  examining  paper  after 
paper,  carefully.  He  looks  in  vain.  It  is  not  there  ;  there  is 
no  document  so  fatal.  Sharper  men  have  taken  better  care 
of  it.  "  It  is  not  here !"  he  whispers,  his  countenance 
becoming  pallid  and  death-like.  "Not  here!" — and  they 
will  swear  to  suit  their  purposes.  Oaths  are  only  worth 
what  they  bring  in  the  market,  among  slave  dealers.  But, 
who  can  have  taken  it  ?"  he  continues,  looking  wildly  at 
Maxwel).  Consternation  is  pictured  on  his  countenance ; 
he  feels  there  is  intrigue  at  work,  and  that  the  want  of  that 
paper  will  prove  fatal  to  his  resolution.  A  man  in  trouble 
always  confides  in  others,  sometimes  those  whom  he  would 
scarce  have  trusted  before.  He  throws  the  paper  aside, 
takes  a  seat  at  Maxwell's  side,  grasps  him  by  the  hand, 
saying,  "  My  friend !  save  them  !  save  them !  save  them ! 
Use  what  stratagem  you  please ;  make  it  the  experiment  of 
your  life.  Consummate  it,  and  a  penitent's  prayer  will  bless 

you !  I  see  the  impending  catastrophe " 

"  We  may  do  without  it ;  be  quiet.  Let  your  feelings 
calm.  I  have  consulted  Franconia  on  the  same  subject. 
Woman  can  do  much  if  she  will ;  and  she  has  promised  me 
she  will.  My  knowledge  of  her  womanly  nature  tells  me 
she  will  be  true  to  Clotilda !"  Maxwell  speaks  assuringly, 
and  his  words  seem  as'balm  to  a  wounded  spirit. 

The  bill  of  sale  was  among  the  things  intended  for  a  more 
profitable  use.  Marston  has  satisfied  Grraspum's  claim ;  but 
he  knew  that  slavery  deadened  the  sensibilities  of  men.  Yet, 
could  it  have  so  deadened  Grraspum's  feeling  that  he  would 
have  been  found  in  a  plot  against  him  ?  No  !  he  could  not 
believe  it.  He  would  not  look  for  foul  play  from  that 
quarter.  It  might  have  been  mislaid — if  lost,  all  the  better. 
A  second  thought,  and  he  begins  to  quiet  himself  with  the 
belief  that  it  had  become  extinct ;  that,  there  not  being 
evidence  to  prove  them  properly,  his  word  would  be  sufficient 
to  procure  their  release.  Somewhat  relieved  of  the  force  of 
parental  anxiety — we  can  call  it  by  no  other  name — the 
troubled  planter,  with  his  troubles  inherited,  promises 
Maxwell,  who  has  postponed  his  departure  that  he  may  aid 
in  saving  Clotilda  and  her  child,  that  he  will  proceed  direct 


EXTBEHES  ABE  PBESENTED.  165 

to  the  sheriff's  office,  give  notice  of  their  freedom  to  that 
functionary,  and  forbid  the  sale.  Upon  this  resolution  they 
part  for  the  night,  and  on  the  following  morning,  Marston, 
sick  at  heart,  leaves-  for  the  city,  hoping  to  make,  arrange 
ments  with  his  attorney,  who  will  serve  notice  of  freedom 
with  all  the  expense  and  legality  of  form. 

The  reader  will  excuse  us  for  passing  over  many  things  of 
minor  importance  which  take  place  during  the  progress  of 
arrangements  between  Marston  and  the  attorney,  Mr.  Dyson 
— commonly  called  Thomas  Dyson,  Esq.,  wonderfully  clever 

in  the  practice  of  slave  law and  proceeding  to  where  we 

find  the  notice  formally  served.  The  document  forbids  the 
sale  of  certain  persons,  physically  and  mentally  described, 
according  to  the  nicest  rules  of  law  and  tenour  of  trade  ;  and 
is,  with  the  dignity  of  legal  proceedings,  served  on  the  honour 
able  sheriff.  We  give  a  portion  of  it,  for  those  who  are  not 
informed  on  such  curious  matters  :  it  runs  thus  : — "  '  The  girl 
Clotilda — aged  27  years ;  her  child  Annette — aged  7  years, 
and  a  remarkable  boy,  Nicholas,  6  years  old,  all  negroes, 

levied  upon  at  the  suit  of ,  to  satisfy  &fifa  issued  from 

the ,  and  set  forth  to  be  the  property  of  Hugh  Marston 

of ,  &c.  &c. ;'  "  as  set  forth  in  the  writ  of  attachment. 

Thus  runs  the  curious  law,  based  on  privilege,  not  principle. 

The  document  served  on  the  sheriff,  Marston  resolved  to 
remain  a  few  days  in  the  city  and  watch  its  effect.  The 
sheriff,  who  is  seldom  supposed  to  evince  sympathy  in  his 
duties,  conforms  with  the  ordinary  routine  of  law  in 
nigger  cases  ;  and,  in  his  turn,  gives  notice  to  the  plaintiff, 
who  is  required  to  enter  security  for  the  purpose  of  testing 
the  point  of  freedom.  Freedom  here  is  a  slender  commo 
dity  ;  it  can  be  sworn  away  for  a  small  compensation.  Mr. 
Anthony  E-omescos  has  peculiar  talent  that  way,  and  his 
services  are  always  in  tha  market.  The  point,  however,  has 
not  resolved  itself  into  that  peculiar  position  where  it  must 
be  either  a  matter  of  compromise,  or  a  question  for  the  court 
and  jury  to  decide. 

If  Marston,  now  sensible  of  his  position  as  father  of  the 
c  hildren,  will  yield  them  a  sacrifice  to  the  man  trader,  it  is 
in  his  power ;  the  creditors  will  make  it  their  profit.  Who, 
th  en,  can  solve  the  perplexity  for  him  ?  The  custom  of  society, 
pointing  the  finger  of  shame,  denies  him  the  right  to  ac- 
kno  wledge  them  his  children.  Society  has  established  the 


16G  EXTREMES  ABE  PRESENTED. 

licentious  wrong, — the  law  protects  it,  custom  enforces  it. 
He  can  only  proceed  by  declaring  the  mother  to  be  a  free 
\voman,  and  leaving  the  producing  proof  to  convict  her  of 
being  slave  property  to  the  plaintiff.  .  In  doing  this,  his 
uidguient  wars  with  his  softer  feelings.  Custom — though  it 
has  nothing  to  give  him — is  goading  him  with  its  advice ; 
it  tells  him  to  abandon  the  unfashionable,  unpolite  scheme. 
Natural  laws  have  given  birth  to  natural  feelings — natural 
affections  are  stronger  than  bad  laws.  They  bum  with  our 
nature, — they  warm  the  gentle,  inspire  the  noble,  and  awake 
the  daring  that  lies  unmoved  until  it  be  called  into  action  for 
the  rescue  of  those  for  whom  our  affections  have  taken  life. 

Things  had  arrived  at  that  particular  point  where  law- 
lovers — we  mean  lawyers — look  on  with  happy  consciences 
and  pleasing  expectations  ;  that  is,  they  had  arrived  at  that 
certain  hinge  of  slave  law  the  turn  of  which  sends  men, 
women,  and  children,  into  the  vortex  of  slavery,  where  their 
hopes  are  for  ever  crushed.  One  day  Marston  had  strong 
hopes  of  saving  them  ;  but  his  hopes  vanished  on  the  next. 
The  fair  creature,  by  him  made  a  wretch,  seemed  before  bim, 
on  her  bended  knees,  clasping  his  hand  while  imploring  him 
to  save  her  child.  The  very  thought  would  have  doubly 
nerved  him  to  action ;  and  yet,  what  mattered  such  action 
against  the  force  of  slavery  injustice  ?  All  his  exertions,  all 
his  pleadings,  all  his  protestations,  in  a  land  where  liberty 
boasts  its  greatness,  would  sink  to  nothing  under  the  power 
he  had  placed  in  their  possession  for  his  overthrow. 

With  this  fatal  scene  before  him,  this  indecision,  he  walked 
the  streets,  resolving  and  re-resolving,  weighing  and  re- 
weighing  the  consequences,  hoping  without  a  chance  for 
hope.  He  would  be  a  father  as  he  has  been  a  kind  master ; 
but  the  law  says,  no !  no  !  Society  forbids  right,  the  law 
crushes  justice, — the  justice  of  heaven  !  Marston  is  like 
one  driven  from  his  home,  from  "the  scene  of  his  happy 
childhood,  upon  which  he  can  now  only  look  back  to  make 
the  present  more  paiuful.  He  has  falleu  from  the  full  flow 
of  pleasure  and  wealth  to  the  low  ebb  of  poverty  clothed  in 
suspicion ;  he  is  homeless,  and  fast  becoming  friendless. 
A  few  days  after,  as  he  takes  his  morning  walk,  he  is 
pointed  to  the  painful  fact,  made  known  through  certain 
legal  documents,  posted  at  certain  corners  of  streets, 
that  his  "negro  property"  is  advertised  for  sale  by  the 


EXTREMES  AEE  PRESENTED.  167 

sheriff.  He  fears  his  legal  notice  has  done  little  legal  good, 
except  to  the  legal  gentlemen  who  receive  the  costs.  He 
retires  to  a  saloon,  finds  the  morning  paper,  commences 
glancing  over  its  legal  columns.  The  waiter  is  surprised  to 
see  him  at  that  hour,  is  ignorant  of  the  war  of  trouble  that 
is  waging  within  him,  knows  him  only  as  a  great  man,  a  rice 
planter  of  wealth  in  negroes,  treats  him  with  becoming 
civility,  and  enquires,  with  a  polite  bow,  what  he  will  be 
served  with.  He  wants  nothing  that  will  supply  the  phy 
sical  man.  He  has  supped  on  trouble,  —  the  following,  painful 
as  it  is,  will  serve  him  for  breakfast  ;  it  meets  his  eye  as  he 
traces  down  the  column  :  — 


'S  SALE. 

"  According  to  former  notice,  will  be  sold  on  the  first 
Tuesday  in  September  next,  between  the  usual  hours  of 
sale,  before  the  Court  House  door,  in  this  city,  the  fol 
lowing  property  —  to  wit  ! 

"  Three  yoke  of  prime  oxen,  and  four  carts. 

"  Seven  horses  ;  two  of  celebrated  breed. 

"  Twenty-  two  mules,  together  with  sundry  other  effects 
as  per  previous  schedule,  which  will  be  produced  at 
the  sale,  when  the  property  will  be  pointed  out.  The 
said  being  levied  on  as  the  property  of  Hugh  Marston,  of 
-  District,  and  sold  to  satisfy  a,fi  fa  issued  from  the 
Superior  Court,  W.  W.  C— 

"  Also  the  following  gang  of  negroes,  many  of  whom 
have  been  accustomed  to  the  cultivation  of  cotton 
and  rice.  Said  negroes  are  very  prime  and  orderly, 
having  been  well  trained  and  fed,  in  addition  to  enjoying  ' 
the  benefit  of  Christian  teaching  through  a  Sunday- 
school  worship  on  the  plantation. 

"Dandy,  and  Enock  (yellow),  prime  house  servants. 

"  Choate,  and  Cato,  aged  29  and  32,  coachman  and  black 
smith. 

"  Harry,  a  prime  fellow  of  remarkable  sagacity,  said  to  be 
very  pious,  and  has  been  very  valuable  as  a  preacher. 

"  Seventeen  prime  field  hands,  ranging  from  17  to  63 
years  old,  together  with  sundry  children,  set  forth  in 
the  schedule. 

"  Peggy,  aged  23  years,  an  excellent  cook,  house  servant 
—  can  do  almost  any  work,  is  faithful  and  strictly  honest. 


168  EXTREMES  ARE  PRESENTED. 

"  Rachel,  one  of  the  very  best  wenches  in  the  County  ;  has 
had  charge  of  the  Manor  for  several  years,  is  very 
motherly  and  well  disposed,  and  fully  capable  of  taking 
charge  of  a  plantation." 

The  description  of  the  negro  property  continues  until  it 
reaches  the  last  and  most  touching  point,  which  Marston 
reads  with  tears  coursing  down  his  cheeks.  But,  it  is  only 
trade,  and  it  is  refreshing  to  see  how  much  talent  the 
auctionee — himself  a  distinguished  politician,  — exhibits  in 
displaying  his  bill.  It  is  that  which  has  worked  itself  so 
deep  into  Marston' s  feelings. 

"  Clotilda,  a  white  negro,  and  her  child  Annette ;  together 
with  Nicholas— a  bright  boy,  remarkably  intelligent 
six  years  old.  "  These  last,"  adds  the  list,  "have  been 
well  brought  up,  with  great  care,  and  are  extremely 
promising  and  pleasant  when  speaking.  The  woman 
has  superior  looks,  is  sometimes  called  beautiful,  has 
finely  developed  features,  and  is  considered  to  be  the 
handsomest  bright  woman  in  the  county." 

We  acknowledge  the  italics  to  be  ours.  The  list,  dis 
playing  great  competency  in  the  trade  of  human  beings, 
concludes  with  warranting  them  sound  and  healthy,  informing 
all  those  in  want  of  such  property  of  the  wonderful  oppor 
tunity  of  purchasing,  and  offering  to  guarantee  its  qualities. 
The  above  being  "  levied  on  to  satisfy  three  fifas"  &c.  &c. 

Poor  Clotilda  !  her  beauty  has  betrayed  her :  her  mother 
was  made  a  slave,  and  she  has  inherited  the  sin  which  the 
enlightened  of  the  western  world  say  shall  be  handed 
down  from  generation  to  generation  until  time  itself  has  an 
end.  She  is  within  the  damp  walls  of  a  narrow  cell ;  the 
cold  stones  give  forth  their  moisture  to  chill  her  bleeding 
heart ;  the  rust  of  oppression  cuts  into  her  very  soul.  The 
warm  sunlight  of  heaven,  once  so  cheering,  has  now  turned 
black  and  cold  to  her.  She  sits  in  that  cold  confine,  filled 
with  sorrow,  hope,  and  expectation,  awaiting  her  doom,  like 
a  culprit  who  measures  the  chances  of  escape  between  him 
and  the  gallows.  She  thinks  of  Marston.  "  He  was  a  kind 
friend  to  me  —  he  was  a  good  master,"  she  says,  little 
thinking  that  at  that  very  moment  he  sits  in  the  saloon 
reading  that  southern  death-warrant  which  dooms  so  many 


EXTREMES  ARE  PRESENTED.  169 

to  a  life  of  woe.  In  it  fathers  were  not  mentioned — Marston's 
feelings  were  spared  that  pain ;  mothers'  tears,  too,  were  omit 
ted,  lest  the  sensitiveness  of  the  fashionable  world  should  be 
touched.  Pained,  and  sick  at  heart — stung  by  remorse  at  find 
ing  himself  without  power  to  relieve  Clotilda — he  rises  from 
his  seat,  and  makes  arrangement  to  return  to  his  plantation. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

A  SCENE  OF  MANY  LIGHTS. 

must  leave  Marston  wending  his  way  for  the  old 
plantation,  and  pass  to  another  phase  of  this  complicated 
affair.  In  doing  this,  we  must  leave  the  reader  to  draw 
from  his  own  imagination  much  that  must  have  transpired 
previous  to  the  present  incidents. 

The  E/overo  family — old  and  distinguished— had  struggled 
against  the  misfortunes  brought  upon  them  by  their  son 
Lorenzo.     Deeply  involved,  they  had   allowed   their   diffi 
culties'  to  go  on  till  they  had  found  themselves  living  by  the 
favour  of  courtesy  and  indulgence.     Lorenzo  and  Franconia 
were  only  children ;  and  since  the  departure  of  the  former 
the  latter  had  been  tbe  idol  of  their  indulgence.     She  was, 
as  we  have  before  said,  delicate,  sensitive,  endowed  with 
generous  impulses,  and  admired  for  her  gentleness,  grace, 
and  vivacity.  To  these  she  added  firmness,  and,  when  once  re 
solved  upon  any  object,  could  not  be  moved  from  her  purpose. 
Nor    was   she — as  is   the  popular   fallacy  of   the    South- 
susceptible  to  the  influence  of  wealth.     Her  love  and  tender 
ness  soared  above  it ;  she  prized  wealth  less  than   moral 
worth.     But  she  could  not  appease  the  pride  of  her  parents 
with  her  feelings.     They,  labouring  under  the  influence  of 
their  reduced  fortunes,  had  favoured  and  insisted  upon  the 
advances  of  the  very  wealthy  Colonel  M'Carstrow,  a  rice- 
planter,   who    had   a  few   years    before  inherited   a   large 
estate.     The  colonel  is  a  sturdy  specimen  of  the  Southern 
gentleman,  which  combines  a  singular  mixture  of  qualities, 
some   of  which   are   represented  by  a  love  of  good  living, 
good  drinking,  good  horse-racing,  good  gambling,  and  fast 
company.     He  lives  on  the  fat  of  the  land,  because  the  fat 
of  the  land  was  made  for  him  to  enjoy.     He  has  no  parti 
cular  objection  to  anybody  in   the  world,  providing  they 
believe  in  slavery,  and  live  according  to  his  notions  of  a 
gentleman.     His  soul's  delight  is  faro,  which  he  wou}d  not 
exchange  for  all   the  religion  in    the  world ;  he  has  strong 


A  SCENE  OF  MANY  LIGHTS.  171 

doubts  about  the  good  of  religion,  which,  he  says,  should  be 
boxed  up  with  modern  morality. 

Laying  these  things  aside, however,  he  is  anything  but  what 
would  have  been  properly  selected  as  a  partner  for  Fran- 
conia ;  and,  while  she  is  only  eighteen,  he  has  turned  the 
corner  of  his  forty-third  year.  In  a  word,  his  manners  are 
unmodelled,  his  feelings  coarse,  his  associations  of  the  worst 
kind ;  nor  is  he  adapted  to  make  the  happiness  of  domestic 
life  lasting.  He  is  one  of  those  persons  so  often  met  with, 
whose  affections — if  they  may  be  supposed  to  have  any— 
are  held  in  a  sort  of  compromise  between  an  incitement  to 
love,  and  their  natural  inclination  to  revel  in  voluptuous 
pleasures.  The  two  being  antagonistic  at  times,  the  latter 
is  sure  to  be  the  stronger,  and  not  unfrequently  carries  its 
victim  into  dissolute  extremes.  Riches,  however,  will 
always  weigh  heavy  in  the  scale ;  their  possession  sways, — 
the  charm  of  gold  is  precious  and  powerful.  And,  too,  the 
colonel  had  another  attraction— very  much  esteemed  among 
slave-dealers  and  owners — he  had  a  military  title,  though 
no  one  knew  how  he  came  by  it. 

Franconia  must  be  the  affianced  bride  of  the  supposed 
wealthy  Colonel  M'Carstrow  ;  so  say  her  parents,  who  feel 
they  are  being  crushed  out  by  misfortune.  It  is  their  desire ; 
and,  however  repulsive  it  may  be  to  Franconia's  feelings, 
she  must  accept  the  man :  she  must  forget  his  years,  his 
habits,  his  associations,  for  the  wealth  he  can  bring  to  the 
relief  of  the  family. 

To  add  eclat  to  the  event,  it  is  arranged  that  tho 
nuptial  ceremony  shall  take  place  in  the  spacious  old 

mansion    of     General     P ,    in    the    city.       General 

P is   a  distant  relation   of  the  Rovero  family.     His 

mansion  is  one  of  those  noble  old  edifices,  met  here  and 
there  in  the  South — especially  in  South  Carolina — which, 
strongly  mark  the  grandeur  of  their  ancient  occupants.  It 
is  a  massive  pile  of  marble,  of  mixed  style  of  Grecian  and 
Doric  architecture,  with  three  stories  divided  by  projecting 
trellised  arbours,  and  ornamented  with  fluted  columns 
surmounted  with  ingeniously-worked  and  sculptured 
capitals,  set  off  with  grotesque  figures.  The  front  is  orna 
mented  with  tablets  of  bas-relief,  variegated  and  chaste. 
These  are  bordered  with  scroll-work,  chases  of  flowers, 
12 


172  A  SCENE  OF  MANT  LIGHTS. 

graces,  and  historical  designs.  Around  the  lower  story, 
palisades  and  curvatures  project  here  and  there  between 
the  divisions,  forming  bowers  shaded  by  vines  and  sweet- 
scented  blossoms.  These  are  diffusing  their  fragrance 
through  the  spacious  halls  and  corridors  beneath.  The 
stately  old  pile  wears  a  romantic  appearance ;  but  it  has 
grown  brown  with  decay,  and  stands  in  dumb  testimony  of 
that  taste  and  feeling  which  prevailed  among  its  British 
founders.  The  garden  in  which  it  stands,  once  rich  with 
the  choicest  flowers  of  every  clime,  now  presents  an  area 
overgrown  with  rank  weeds,  decaying  hedges,  dilapidated 
walks,  and  sickly  shrubbery.  The  hand  that  once  nurtured 
this  pretty  scene  of  buds  and  blossoms  with  so  much  care 
has  passed  away.  Dull  inertness  now  hangs  its  lifeless 
festoons  over  the  whole,  from  the  vaulted  hall  to  the  iron 
railing  enclosing  the  whole. 

The  day  for  consummating  the  nuptial  ceremony  has 
arrived ;  many  years  have  passed  since  the  old  mansion 
witnessed  such  a  scene.  The  gay,  wealthy,  and  intelligent 
of  the  little  fashionable  world  will  be  here.  The  spell  of  lone- 
Jiness  in  which  the  old  walls  have  so  long  slept  will  be 
broken.  Sparkling  jewels,  bland  smiles,  the  rich  decorations 
of  former  years,  are  to  again  enhance  the  scene.  Exhausted 
nature  is  to  shake  off  its  monotony,  to  be  enlivened  with 
the  happiness  of  a  seemingly  happy  assemblage.  A  lovely 
bride  is  to  be  showered  with  smiles,  congratulations, 
t.kens  of  love.  Southern  gallantry  will  doff  its  cares,  put 
on  its  smiling  face.  Whatever  may  smoulder  beneath, 
pleasure  and  gaiety  will  adorn  the  surface. 

Franconia  sits  in  her  spacious  chamber.  She  is  arrayed 
in  flowing  negliye  ;  a  pensive  smile  invades  her  countenance  ; 
she  supports  her  head  on  her  left  hand,  the  jewels  on 
her  tiny  fingers  sparkling  though  her  hair.  Everything 
round  her  bears  evidence  of  comfort  and  luxury  ;  the  gentle 
breeze,  as  it  sweeps  through  the  window  to  fan  her  blushing 
cheek, isiuH'-egnated  with  sweetest  odours.  She  contemplates 
the  meetir  :  of  him  who  is  to  be  the  partner  of  her  life  ;  can 
she  reconcile  it  ?  Nay,  there  is  something  forcing  itself 
against  her  will.  Her  bridesmaids, — young,  gay,  and  accom 
plished, — gather  around  her.  The  fierce  conflict  raging  in 
her  bosom  discloses  itself;  the  attempt  to  cheer  her  up, 


A  SCKNE  OF  MANY  LIGHTS.  173 

under  the  impression  that  it  arises  from  want  of  vigour 
to  buoy  up  her  sensitive  system,  fails.  Again  she  seems 
labouring  under  excitement. 

"Franconia!"  exclaims  one,  taking  her  by  the  hand,  "is 
not  the  time  approaching?" 

"Time  always  approaches,"  she  speaks:  her  mind  haa 
been  wandering,  picturing  the  gloomy  spectacle  that 
presents  itself  in  Clotilda's  cell.  She  moves  her  right  hand 
slowly  across  her  brow,  casts  an  enquiring  glance  around 
the  room,  then  at  those  beside  her,  and  changes  her  position 
in  the  cbair.  "  The  time  to  have  your  toilet  prepared — the 
servants  await  you,"  is  the  reply.  Franconia  gathers 
strength,  sits  erect  in  her  chair,  seema  to  have  just 
resolved  upon  something.  A  servant  hastens  into  her 
presence  bearing  a  delicately-enveloped  note.  She  breaks 
the  seal,  reads  it  and  re-reads  it,  holds,  it  carelessly  in  her 
hand  for  a  minute,  then  puts  it  in  her  bosom.  There  is 
something  important  in  the  contents,  something  she  must 
keep  secret.  It  is  from  Maxwell.  Her  friend  evinced 
some  surprise,  while  waiting  a  reply  as  she  read  the  letter. 

"  No !  not  yet,"  she  says,  rising  from  her  chair  and 
sallying  across  the  room.  "  That  which  is  forced  upon  me 
— ah !  I  cannot  love  him.  To  me  there  is  no  loving 
wealth.  Money  may  shelter ;  but  it  never  moves  hearts  to 
love  truly.  How  I  have  struggled  against  it !"  Again  she 
resumes  her  chair,  weeps.  Her  tears  gush  from  the  parent 
fountain — woman's  heart.  "  My  noble  uncle  in  trouble, 
my  clear  brother  gone  ;  yes  !  to  where,  and  for  what,  I  dare 
not  think ;  and  yet  it  has  preyed  upon  me  through  the 
struggle  of  pride  against  love.  My  father  may  soon  follow  ; 
but  I  am  to  be  consigned  to  the  arms  of  one  whom  it 
would  be  folly  to  say  I  respect." 

Her  friend,  Miss  Alice  Latel,  reminds  her  that  it  were  Avell 
not  to  let  such  melancholy  wanderings  trouble  her.  She 
suggests  that  the  colonel,  being  rich,  •will  fill  the  place  of 
father  as  well  as  husband ;  that  she  will  be  surrounded  by 
the  pleasures  which  wealth  only  can  bring,  and  in  this  world 
what  more  can  be  desired  ? 

"  Such  fathers  seldom  make  affectionate  husbands  ;  nor  do 
I  want  the  father  without  the  husband ;  his  wealth  would 
not  make  me  respect  him."  Franconia  becomes  excited, 
giving  rapid  utterance  to  her  language.  "  Can  I  suppress 


174  A  SCKNE  OF  MAN  I  LIGHTS. 

my  melancholy — can  I  enjoy  such  pleasure,  aud  my  dear 
Clotilda  in  a  prison,  looking  through  those  galling  gratings  ? 
Can  I  be  happy  when  the  anguish  of  despair  pierces  deep 
into  her  heart  ?  No  !  oh,  no  !  Never,  while  I  think  of  her, 
can  I  summon  resolution  to  put  on  a  bridal  robe.  Nay  ! 
I  will  not  put  them  on  without  her.  I  will  not  dissemble 
joy  while  she  sinks  in  her  prison  solitude!" 

"  Can  you  mean  that — at  this  hour  ?"  enquires  Miss 
Alice,  looking  upon  her  with  anxiety  pictured  in  her  face. 
One  gives  the  other  a  look  of  surprise.  Miss  Alice  must 
needs  call  older  counsel. 

"  Yes !"  replies  Franconia,  more  calm ;  "  even  at  this 
hour !  It  is  never  too  late  to  serve  our  sisters.  Could  1 
smile — could  I  seem  happy,  and  so  many  things  to  contem 
plate  ?  We  cannot  disguise  them  now ;  we  cannot  smother 
scandal  with  a  silken  mantle.  Clotilda  must  be  with  me. 
Negro  as  she  is  by  law,  she  is  no  less  dear  to  me.  Nor 
can  I  yield  to  those  feelings  so  prominent  in  southern 
breasts, — I  cannot  disclaim  her  rights,  leave  her  the  mere 
chattel  subject  of  brute  force,  and  then  ask  forgiveness  of 
heaven!"  This  declaration,  made  in  a  positive  tone,  at 
once  disclosed  her  resolution.  We  need  not  tell  the  reader 
with  what  surprise  it  took  the  household ;  nor,  when  she 
as  suddenly  went  into  a  violent  paroxysm  of  hysterics,  the 
alarm  it  spread. 

The  quiet  of  the  mansion  has  changed  for  uproar  and 
confusion.  Servants  are  running  here  and  there,  getting  in 
each  other's  way,  blocking  the  passages,  and  making  the 
confusion  more  intense.  Colonel  M'Carstrow  is  sent  for, 
reaches  the  mansion  in  great  consternation,  expects  to  find 
Franconia  a  corpse,  for  the  negro  messenger  told  him  such 
a  crooked  story,  and  seemed  so  frightened,  that  he  can't 
make  anything  straight  of  it — except  that  there  is  something 
very  alarming. 

She  has  been  carried  to  one  of  the  ante-chambers, 
reclines  on  a  couch  of  softest  tapestry,  a  physician  at  one 
side,  and  Alice,  bathing  her  temples  with  aromatic  liquid, 
on  the  other.  She  presents  a  ravishing  picture  of  delicacy, 
modesty,  and  simplicity, —  of  all  that  is  calmly  beautiful  in 
woman.  "  I  can  scarcely  account  for  it :  but,  she's  coming 
to,"  says  the  man  of  medicine,  looking  on  mechanically. 
Her  white  bosom  swells  gently,  like  a  newly-waked  zephyr 


A.  SCENE  OF  MANY  LIGHTS.  175 

playing  among  virgin  leaves  ;  while  her  eyes,  like  melancholy 
stars,  glimmer  with  the  lustre  of  her  soul.  "Ah  me!5' 
she  sighs,  raising  her  hand  over  her  head  and  resting  it 
upon  the  cushion,  as  her  auburn  hair  floats,  calm  and  beau 
tiful,  down  her  pearly  shoulder. 

The  colonel  touches  her  hand ;  and,  as  if  it  had  been  too 
rudely,  she  draws  it  to  her  side,  then  places  it  upon  her 
bosom.  Again  raising  her  eyes  till  they  meet  his,  she 
blushes.  It  is  the  blush  of  innocence,  that  brightens  beneath 
the  spirit  of  calm  resolution.  She  extends  her  hand  again, 
slowly,  and  accepts  his.  "  You  will  gratify  me — will  you 
not  ?"  she  mutters,  attempting  to  gain  a  recumbent  position 
They  raise  her  as  she  intimates  adesire;  she  seemsherself  again. 

"  Whatever  your  wish  may  be,  you  have  but  to  intimate 
it,"  replies  the  colonel,  kissing  her  hand. 

"  Then,  I  want  Clotilda.  Go,  bring  her  to  me  ;  she  only 
can  wait  on  me  ;  and  I  am  fond  of  her.  With  her  I  shall 
be  well  soon ;  she  will  dress  me.  TJncle  'will  be  happy,  and 
we  shall  all  be  happy." 

"  But,"  the  colonel  interrupts,  suddenly,  "where  is  she 
to  be  found  ?" 

"  In  the  prison.  You'll  find  her  there  !"  There  is  little 
time  to  lose, — a  carriage  is  ordered,  the  colonel  drives  to  the 
prison,  and  there  finds  the  object  of  Franconia's  trouble. 
She,  the  two  children  at  her  side,  sits  in  a  cell  seven  by  five 
feet ;  the  strong  grasp  of  slave  power  fears  itself,  its  tyranny 
glares  forth  in  the  emaciated  appearance  of  its  female 
victim.  The  cell  is  lighted  through  a  small  aperture  in  the 
door,  which  hangs  with  heavy  bolts  and  bars,  as  if  torturing 
the.  innocent  served  the  power  of  injustice.  The  prison-keeper 
led  the  way  through  a  narrow  passage  between  stone  walls. 
His  tap  on  the  door  startles  her ;  she  moves  from  her  position, 
where  she  had  been  seated  on  a  coarse  blanket.  It  is  all 
they  (the  hospitable  southern  world,  with  its  generous  laws) 
can  afford  her ;  she  makes  it  a  bed  for  three.  A  people  less 
boastful  of  hospitality  may  give  her  more.  She  holds  a 
prayer-book  in  her  hand,  and  motions  to  the  children  as 
they  crouch  at  her  feet. 

"  Come,  girl !  somebody's  here  to  see  you,"  says  the 
keeper,  looking  in  at  the  aperture,  as  the  sickly  stench 
escapes  from  the  dark  cavern-like  place. 

Nervously,  the  poor  victim  approaches,  lays  her  trembling 


176  A  SCENE  OF  MANY  LIGHTS. 

band  on  the  grating,  gives  ^  a  doubting  glance  at  the 
stranger,  seems  surprised,  anxious  to  know  the  purport  of 
his  mission. 

"  Am  I  wanted  ?"  she  enquires  eagerly,  as  if  fearing  some 
rude  dealer  has  come— perhaps  to  examine  her  person, 
that  he  may  be  the  better  able  to  judge  of  her  market 
value. 

Notwithstanding  the  coldness  of  M'Carstrow's  nature, 
his  feelings  are  moved  by  the  womanly  appearance  of  the 
wench,  as  he  calls  her,  when  addressing  the  warden.  There 
is  something  in  the  means  by  which  so  fair  a  creature  is 
reduced  to  merchandise  he  cannot  altogether  reconcile. 
Were  it  not  for  what  habit  and  education  can  do,  it  would 
be  repulsive  to  nature  in  its  crudest  state.  But  it  is  accord 
ing  to  law,  that  inhuman  law  which  is  tolerated  in  a  free 
country. 

"  I  want  you  to  go  with  me,  and  you  will  see  your  young 
missis,"  says  M'Carstrow,  shrugging  his  shoulders.  He  is 
half  inclined  to  let  his  better  feelings  give  way  to  sympathy. 
But  custom  and  commerce  forbid  it;  they  carry  off  the 
spoil,  just  as  the  sagacious  pumpkiu  philosopher  of  England. 
admits  slavery  a  great  evil,  while  delivering  an  essay  for  the 
purpose  of  ridiculing  emancipation. 

M'Carstrow  soon  changes  his  feelings, — addresses  himself 
to  business.  "Are  you  in  here  for  sale?"  he  enquires, 
attempting  to  whistle  an  air,  and  preserve  an  unaffected 
appearance. 

The  question  touches  a  tender  chord  of  her  feelings  ;  her 
bosom  swells  with  emotions  of  grief;  he  has  wounded  that 
sensitive  chord  upon  which  the  knowledge  of  her  degradation 
hangs.  She  draws  a  handkercln'ef  from  her  pocket,  wipes 
the  tear  that  glistens  in  her  eye,  clasps  Annette  in  her  arms 
—while  Nicholas,  frightened,  hangs  by  the  skirts  of  her 
dress, — buries  her  face  in  her  bosom,  retires  a  few  steps,  and 
again  seats  herself  on  the  blanket. 

"  The  question  is  pending.  If  I'm  right  about  it — and  I 
believe  I'm  generally  so  on  such  cases — it  comes  on  before 
the  next  session,  fall  term,"  says  the  gaoler,  turning  to 
M'Carstrow  with  a  look  of  wonderful  importance.  The 
gaoler,  who,  with  his  keys,  lets  loose  the  anxieties  of  men, 
continues  his  learned  remarks.  "  Notice  has  been  served 
how  she's  free.  But  that  kind  o*  twisting  things  to  make 


A  SCENE  OF  MASY  LIGHTS.  177 

alave  property  free  never  amounts  to  much,  especially  when 
a  man  gets  where  they  say  Marston  is  !  Anthony  Komescos 
has  been  quizzing  ubout,  and  it  don't  take  much  to  make 
such  thiugs  property  when  he's  round."  The  man  of  keys 
again  looks  very  wise,  runs  his  hand  deep  into  the  pocket  of 
his  coat,  and  says  something  about  this  being  a  great  country. 

"How  much  do  you  reckon  her  worLh,  my  friend?" 
enquires  M'Carstrow,  exchanging  a  significant  glance. 

"  "Well,  now  you've  got  me.  It's  a  point  of  judgment, 
you  see.  The  article's  rather  questionable — been  spoiled. 
There's  a  doubt  about  such  property  when  you  put  it  up, 
except  a  gentleman  wants  it ;  and  then,  I  reckon,  it'll  bring 
a  smart  price.  There's  this  to  be  considered,  I  reckon, 
though  they  haven't  set  a  price  on  her  yet,  she's  excel- 
v...:  -r.ood  looiiing;  and  the  young  un's  a  perfect  cherry. 
It'll  bring  a  big  heap  one  of  these  days." 

"We  won't  mind  that,  just  now,  gaoler,"  M'Carstrow 
says,  very  complacently;  "you'll  let  me  have  her  to-night, 
and  I'll  return  her  safe  in  the  morning." 

"  No,  no,"  interposes  Clotilda,  mistaking  M'Carstrow's 
object.  She  crouches  down  on  the  blanket,  as  if  shrinking 
from  a  deadly  assault :  "  let  me  remain,  even  in  my  cell." 
She  draws  the  children  to  her  side. 

"  Don't  mistake  me,  my  girl :  I  am  a  friend.  I  want 
you  for  Frauconia  Eovero.  She  is  fond  of  you,  you 
know." 

"  Francouia  !"  she  exclaims  with  joy,  starting  to  her  feet 
at  the  sound  of  the  name.  "  I  do  know  her,  dear  Fran- 
conia!  I  know  her,  I  love  her,  she  loves  me — I  wish  she 
was  my  mother.  But  she  is  to  be  the  angel  of  my  free 
dom "  Here  she  suddenly  stopped,  as  if  she  had 

betrayed  something. 

"  We  must  lose  no  time,"  M'Carstrow  says,  informing  her 
that  Frnnconia  is  that  night  to  be  his  bride,  and  cannot  be 
happy  without  seeing  her. 

"  Bride !  and  cannot  prepare  without  me,"  mutters  the 
woman,  seeming  to  doubt  the  reality  of  his  statement.  A 
thought  flashes  in  her  mind :  "  Fraucouia  has  not  forgotten 
me ;  I  will  go  and  be  Franconia's  friend."  And  with  a 
child-like  simplicity  she  takes  Annette  by  the  hand,  as  if 
they  were  inseparable,  "  Can't  Nicholas  go,  too  ?"  she 
inquires. 


178  A  SCENE  OF  MANY  LIGHTS. 

"  You  must  leave  the  child,"  is  the  cool  reply.  M'Cars- 
trow  attempts  to  draw  the  heavy  bolt  that  fastens  the  door. 

"  Not  so  fast,  if  you  please,"  the  -warden  speaks.  "  I 
cannot  permit  her  to  leave  without  an  order  from  the  sheriff." 
He  puts  his  hand  against  the  door. 

"  She  will  surely  be  returned  in  the  morning ;  I'm  good  for 
a  hundred  such  pieces  of  property." 

"  Can't  help  that,"  interrupts  the  gaoler,  coolly. 

"  But,  there's  my  honour !" 

"  An  article  gaolers  better  not  deal  in.  It  may  be  very 
good  commodity  in  some  kinds  of  business — don't  pay  in 
ours ;  and  then,  when  this  kind  of  property  is  in  question, 
it  won't  do  to  show  a  favour  beyond  the  rule." 

M'Carstrow  is  in  a  sad  dilemma.  He  must  relieve  himself 
through  a  problem  of  law,  which,  at  this  late  hour,  brings 
matters  to  a  singular  point.  He  believes  Prauconia  suffers 
from  a  nervous  affection,  as  the  doctors  call  it,  and  has 
fixed  her  mind  upon  the  only  object  of  relief.  He  had 
made  no  preparation  for  such  a  critical  event ;  but  there  is  no 
postponing  the  ceremony, — no  depriving  her  of  the  indul 
gence.  Not  a  moment  is  to  be  lost :  he  sets  off,  post-haste, 
for  the  sheriff's  office.  That  functionary  is  well  known  for 
his  crude  method  of  executing  business  ;  to  ask  a  favour  of 
him  would  be  like  asking  the  sea  to  give  up  its  dead.  He 
is  cold,  methodical,  unmoveable ;  very  much  opposed  to 
anything  having  the  appearance  of  an  innovation  upon  his 
square  rules  of  business. 

M'Carstrow  finds  him  in  just  the  mood  to  interpose  all 
the  frigid  peculiarities  of  his  incomprehensible  nature.  The 
colonel  has  known  him  by  reputation ;  he  knows  him  now 
through  a  different  medium.  After  listening  to  M'Carstrow's 
request,  and  comporting  himself  with  all  imaginable  dignity, 
he  runs  his  fingers  through  his  hair,  looks  at  M'Carstrow 
vacantly,  and  well  nigh  rouses  his  temper.  M'Carstrow 
feels,  as  southern  gentlemen  are  wont  to  feel,  that  his 
position  and  title  are  enough  to  ensure  courtesy  and  a  quick 
response.  The  man  of  writs  and  summonses  feels  quite  sure 
that  the  pomp  of  his  office  is  sufficient  to  offset  all  other 
distinctions. 

"  Whar'  d'ye  say  the  gal  was, — in  my  gaol?"  the  sheriff 
inquires,  with  solemn  earnestness,  and  drawling  his  words 
measuredly,  as  if  the  whole  affair  was  quite  within  his  line 


A  SCENE  OF  MANT  LIGHTS.  179 

of  business.  The  sheriff  has  the  opportunity  of  making  a 
nice  little  thing  of  it ;  the  object  to  be  released  will  serve 
the  profits  of  the  profession.  "  Grittin'  that  gal  out  yander 
ain't  an  easy  thing  now,  'taint!  It'll  cost  ye  'bout  twenty 
dollars,  sartin,"  he  adds,  turning  over  the  leaves  of  his  big 
book,  and  running  his  finger  down  a  scale  of  names. 

"  I  don't  care  if  it  costs  a  hundred !  Give  me  an  order 
for  her  release !"  M'Carstrow  begins  to  understand  Mr. 
Sheriff's  composition,  and  putting  his  hand  into  his  pocket, 
draws  forth  a  dwenty-dollar  gold  piece,  throws  it  upon  the 
table.  The  effect  is  electric :  it  smooths  down  the  surface  of 
Mr.  Sheriff's  nature, — brings  out  the  disposition  to  accommo 
date.  The  Sheriff's  politeness  now  taxes  M'Carstrow's 
power  to  reciprocate. 

"  Now,  ye  see,  my  friend,"  says  Mr.  Sheriff,  in  a  quaint 
tone,  "  there's  three  fi  fas  on  that  critter.  Hold  a 
minute!"  He  must  needs  take  a  better  glance;  he  runs 
his  fingers  over  the  page  again,  mutters  to  himself,  and 
then  breaks  out  into  a  half-musical,  half-undefinable 
humming.  "  It's  a  snarled-up  affair,  the  whole  on't.  T'll 
take  a  plaguy  cunnin'  lawyer  to  take  the  shine  out."  The 
sheriff  pushes  the  piece  of  coin  nearer  the  inkstand,  into 
the  centre  of  the  table.  "  I  feel  all  over  like  accommodatin' 
ye,"  he  deigns  to  say  ;  "but  then  t'll  be  so  pestky  crooked 
gettin'  the  thing  straight."  He  hesitates  before  the  won- 
dgrj,ul  difficulty, — he  can't  see  his  way  straight  through  it. 
"  Three  fi  fas  \  I  believe  I'm  correct ;  there's  one 
principal  one,  however." 

"  I  pledge  my  honour  for,  her  return  in  the  morning  ;  and 
she  shall  be  all  shined  up  with  a  new  dress.  Her  presence 
is  imperatively  necessary  to-night,"  M'Carstrow  remarks, 
becoming  impatient. 

"  Two  fi  fas  \ — well,  the  first  look  looked  like  three. 
But,  the  principal  one  out  of  the  way, — no  matter."  Mr. 
Sheriff  becomes  more  and  more  enlightened  on  the  unen 
lightened  •difficulties  of  the  law.  He  remarks,  touching 
M'Carstrow  on  the  arm,  with  great  seriousness  of  counte 
nance,  "  I  sees  how  the  knot's  tied.  Te  know,  my  functions 
are  turned  t'  most  everything;  and  it  makes  a  body  see 

through  a  thing  just  as  straight  as  .  Pest  on't! 

Te  see,  it's  mighty  likely  property, — don't  strike  such  every 
day-  That  gal  '11  bring  a  big  tick  in  the  market " 


180  A  SCENE  OF  MAST  LIGHTS. 

"  Excuse  me,  my  dear  sir,"  M'Carstrow  suddenly  inter 
rupts.  "  Understand  me,  if  you  please.  I  want  her  for 
nothing  that  you  contemplate, — nothing,  I  pledge  you  iny 
honour  as  a  southern  gentleman  !" 

"  Ah, — bless  me  !  Well,  but  there's  nothin'  in  that.  I 
see !  I  see !  I  see !"  Mr.  Sheriff  brightens  up,  his  very  soul 
seems  to  expand  with  legal  tenacity.  "  Well,  ye  see, 
there's  a  question  of  property  raised  about  the  gal,  and  her 
young  'un,  too — nice  young  'un  'tis ;  but  it's  mighty  easy 
tellin'  whose  it  is.  About  the  law  matter,  though,  you  must 
get  the  consent  of  all  the  plaintiff's  attorneys, — that's  no 
small  job.  Lawyers  are  devilish  slippery,  rough  a  felier 
amazingly,  once  in  a  while ;  chance  if  ye  don't  have  to  get 
the  critter  valued  by  a  survey.  Graspum,  though' s  oilers 
on  hand,  is  first  best  good  at  that :  can  say  her  top  price 
while  ye'd  say  seven,"  says  Mr.  Sheriff,  maintaining  his 
wise  dignity,  as  he  reminds  M'Carstrow  that  his  name  is 
Cur,  commonly  called  Mr.  Cur,  sheriff  of  the  county.  It 
must  not  be  inferred  that  Mr.  Cur  has  any  of  the  canine 
qualities  about  him.  The  hour  for  the  ceremony  is  close  at 
hand.  M'Carstrow,  satisfied  that  rules  of  law  are  very 
arbitrary  things  in  the  hands  of  officials — that  such  property 
is  difficult  to  get  out  of  the  meshes  of  legal  technicality — 
that  honour  is  neither  marketable  or  pledgeable  in  such 
cases,  must  move  quickly :  he  seeks  the  very  conscientious 
attorneys,  gets  them  together,  pleads  the  necessity  of  tho 
case :  a  convention  is  arranged,  Grraspum  will  value  "the 
property— as  a  weigher  and  gauger  of  human  flesh.  This 
done,  M'Carstrow  signs  a  bond  in  the  sum  of  fifteen  hun 
dred  dollars,  making  himself  responsible  for  the  property. 
The  instrument  contains  a  provision,  that  should  any  unfore 
seen  disaster  befall  it,  the  question  of  property  will  remain 
subject  to  the  decision  of  Court.  Upon  these  conditions, 
M'Carstrow  procures  an  order  for  her  release.  He  is  careful, 
however,  that  nothing  herein  set  forth  shall  affect  the  suit 
already  instituted. 

Love  is  an  exhilarating  medicine,  moving  and  quickening 
the  hearts  of  old  and  young.  M^Carstrow  felt  its  influence 
sensibly,  as  he  hurried  back  to  the  prison — excited  by  the 
near  approach  of  the  ceremony  —  with  the  all-important 
order.  Bolts,  bars,  and  malarious  walls,  yield  to  it  the 
pining  captive  whose  presence  will  soothe  Franeouia'a 
feelings. 


A  SCENE  OF  MANY  LIGHTS.  181 

Clotilda  was  no  less  elated  at  the  hope  of  changing  her 
prison  for  the  presence  of  her  young  mistress ;  and  yet, 
the  previous  summons  had  nearly  unnerved  her.  She  lingers 
at  the  grating,  waiting  M'Carstrow's  return.  Time  seems 
fco  linger,  until  her  feelings  are  nearly  overwhelmed  in 
suspense.  Again,  there  is  a  mystery  in  the  mission  of  the 
stranger ;  she  almost  doubts  his  sincerity.  It  may  be  one  of 
those  plots,  so  often  laid  by  slave-traders,  to  separate  her 
from  her  child, — perhaps  to  run  her  where  all  hope  of  regain 
ing  freedom  will  be  for  ever  lost.  One  after  another  did 
these  things  recur  to  her  mind,  only  to  make  the  burden  of 
her  troubles  more  painful. 

Her  child  has  eaten  its  crust,  fallen  into  a  deep  sleep,  and, 
its  little  hands  resting  clasped  on  its  bosom,  lies  calmly  upon 
the  coarse  blanket.  She  gazes  upon  it,  as  a  mother  only 
can  gaze.  There  is  beauty  in  that  sweet  face ;  it  is  not 
valued  for  its  loveliness,  its  tenderness,  its  purity.  How 
cursed  that  it  is  to  be  the  prime  object  of  her  disgrace ! 
Thus  contemplating,  M'Carstrow  appears  at  the  outer  gate,  is 
admitted  into  the  prison,  reaches  the  inner  grating,  is 
received  by  the  warden,  who  smiles  generously.  "I'm  as 
glad  as  anything !  Hope  you  had  a  good  time  with  his 
honour,  Mr.  Cur?"  he  says,  holding  the  big  key  in  his 
hand,  and  leading  the  way  into  the  office.  He  takes  his 
seat  at  a  table,  commences  preparing  the  big  book.  "  Here 
is  the  entry,"  he  says,  with  a  smile  of  satisfaction.  "  "We'll 
soon  straighten  the  thing  now."  Puts  out  his  hand  for 
the  order  which  M'Carstrow  has  been  holding.  "That's 
just  the  little  thing,"  he  says,  reading  it  word  by  word 
carefully,  and  concluding  with  the  remark  that  he  has  had  a 
deal  of  trouble  with  it.  M'Carstrow  places  some  pieces 
of  silver  in  his  hand ;  they  turn  the  man  of  keys  into  a  subser 
vient  creature.  He  hastens  to  the  cell,  M'Carstrow  following, 
— draws  theheavy  bolts, — bids  the  prisoner  come  forth.  "Yes, 
come,  girl ;  I've  had  a  tough  time  to  get  you  out  of  that  place  : 
it  holds  its  prey  like  lawyers'  seals,"  rejoins  M'Carstrow. 

"  Not  without  my  child  ?"  she  inquires  quickly.  She 
stoops  down  and  kisses  jL  "My  daughter, — my  sweet 
child !"  she  mutters. 

"  Till  to-morrow.     You  must  leave  her  for  to-night." 

"If  I  must !"  Again  she  kisses  the  child,  adding,  as  she 
smoothed  her  hand  over  Annette,  and  parted  her  hair, 


182  A  SCENE  OE  MANY  LIGHTS. 

"Mother  will  return  soon."  There  was  something  so 
touching  in  the  word  mother,  spoken  while  leaning  over  a 
sleeping  babe.  Clotilda  reaches  the  door,  having  kept  her 
eyes  upon  the  child  as  she  left  her  behind.  A  tremor  comes 
over  her, — she  reluctantly  passes  the  threshold  of  the  narrow 
arch ;  but  she  breathes  the  fresh  air  of  heaven, — feels  as  if 
her  life  had  been  renewed.  A  mother's  thoughts,  a  mother's 
anxieties,  a  mother's  love,  veil  her  countenance.  She  turns 
to  take  a  last  look  as  the  cold  door  closes  upon  the  dearest 
object  of  her  life.  How  it  grates  upon  its  hinges  !  her 
hopes  seem  for  ever  extinguished. 

The  law  is  thus  far  satisfied — the  legal  gentlemen  are 
satisfied,  the  warden  is  not  the  least  generous  ;  and  Mr.  Cur 
feels  that,  while  the  job  was  a  very  nice  one,  he  has  not  tran 
scended  one  jot  of  his  importance.  Such  is  highly  gratifying 
to  all  parties.  Clotilda  is  hurried  into  a  carriage,  driven  at  a 
rapid  rate,  and  soon  arrives  at  the  mansion.  Here  she  is 
ushered  into  a  chamber,  arrayed  in  a  new  dress,  and  con 
ducted  into  the  presence  of  Franconia.  The  meeting  may 
be  more  easily  imagined  than  described.  Their  congratula 
tions  were  warm,  affectionate,  touching.  Clotilda  kisses 
Franconia' s  hand  again  and  again  ;  Franconia,  in  turn,  lays 
her  hand  upon  Clotilda's  shoulder,  and,  with  a  look  of  com 
miseration,  sets  her  eyes  intently  upon  her,  as  if  she  detects 
in  her  countenance  those  features  she  cannot  disown.  She 
requests  to  be  left  alone  with  Clotilda  for  a  short  time. 
Her  friends  withdraw.  She  discloses  the  difficulties  into 
which  the  family  have  suddenly  fallen,  the  plan  of  escape 
she  has  arranged,  the  hopes  she  entertains  of  her  regaining 
her  freedom.  "  Public  opinion  and  the  state  of  our  diffi 
culties  prompted  this  course, — I  prefer  it  to  any  other  : 
follow  my  directions, — Maxwell  has  everything  prepared,  and 
to-night  will  carry  youoff  upon  the  broad  blueocean  of  liberty. 
Enjoy  that  liberty,  Clotilda, — be  a  woman, — follow  the  path 
G-od  has  strewn  for  your  happiness  ;  above  all,  let  freedom 
be  rewarded  with  your  virtue,  your  example,"  saysFranconia, 
as  she  again  places  her  arm  round  Clotilda's  neck. 

"  And  leave  my  child,  Francojiia  ?"  the  other  inquires, 
looking  up  imploringly  in  Franconia's  face. 

"  To  me,"  is  the  quick  response.  "  I  will  be  her  guardian, 
her  mother.  Gret  you  beyond  the  grasp  of  slavery — get 
beyond  its  contaminating  breath,  and  I  will  be  Annette's 


A  SCJe,K£  Oi*  MANY  LIGHTS.  183 

mother.  When  you  are  safely  there,  when  you  can  breathe 
the  free  air  of  liberty,  write  me,  and  she  shall  meet  you. 
Leave  her  to  me  ;  think  of  her  only  in  my  care,  and  in  my 
trust  she  will  be  happy.  Meet  Maxwell — he  is  your  friend 
— at  the  centre  corridor ;  he  will  be  there  as  soon  as  the 
ceremony  commences  ;  he  will  have  a  pass  from  me  ;  he  will 
be  your  guide !"  She  overcomes  Clotilda's  doubts,  reasons 
away  her  pleadings  for  her  child,  gives  her  a  letter  and  small 
miniature  (they  are  to  be  kept  until  she  reaches  her  desti 
nation  of  freedom),  and  commences  preparing  for  the  cere 
mony. 

Night  arrives,  the  old  mansion  brightens  and  resounds 
with  the  bustle  of  preparation.  Servants  are  moving  about 
in  great  confusion.  Everything  is  in  full  dress ;  "  yellow 
fellows,"  immersed  in  trim  black  coats,  nicely-cut  panta 
loons,  white  vests  and  gloves,  shirt-collars  of  extraordinary 
dimensions,  and  hair  curiously  crimped,  are  standing  at  their 
places  along  the  halls,  ready  for  reception.  Another  class, 
equally  well  dressed,  are  running  to  and  fro  through  the 
corridors  in  the  despatch  of  business.  Old  mammas  have  a 
new  shine  on  their  faces,  their  best  "  go  to  church"  fixings 
on  their  backs.  Younger  members  of  the  same  property 
species  are  gaudily  attired — some  in  silk,  some  in  missus's 
slightly  worn  cashmere.  The  colour  of  their  faces  grades 
from  the  purest  ebony  to  the  palest  olive.  A  curious  phi 
losophy  may  be  drawn  from  the  mixture :  it  contrasts 
strangely  with  the  flash  and  dazzle  of  their  fantastic  dresses, 
their  large  circular  ear-rings,  their  curiously-tied  bandanas, 
the  large  bow  points  of  which  lay  crossed  on  the  tufts  of 
their  crimpy  hair.  The  whole  scene  has  an  air  of  bewitching 
strangeness.  In  another  part  of  the  mansion  we  find  the 
small  figures  of  the  estate,  all  agog,  toddling  and  doddling, 
with  faces  polished  like  black-balled  shoes ;  they  are  as 
piquant  and  interesting  as  their  own  admiration  of  the  dress 
master  has  provided  them  for  the  occasion. 

The  darkness  increases  as  the  night  advances.  The  arbour 
leading  from  the  great  gate  to  the  vaulted  hall  in  the  base 
of  the  mansion  is  hung  with  lanterns  of  grotesque  patterns, 
emitting  light  and  shade  as  variegated  as  the  hues  of  the 
rainbow.  The  trees  and  shrubbery  in  the  arena,  hung 
with  fantastic  lanteras,  enliven  the  picture — make  it  grand 
and  imposing.  It  presents  a  fairy-like  perspective,  with 


184  A  SCENE  OF  MANY.  LIGHTS. 

spectre  lights  hung  here  and  there,  their  mellow  glows  reflect 
ing  softly  upon  the  luxuriant  foliage. 

Entering  the  vaulted  hall,  its  floor  of  antique  tiles ; 
frescoed  walls  with  well-executed  mythological  designs, 
jetting  lights  flickering  and  dazzling  through  its  arches,  we 
find  ourselves  amidst  splendour  unsurpassed  in  our  land. 
At  the  termination  of  the  great  hall  a  massive  flight  of  spiral 
steps,  of  Egyptian  marble,  ascends  to  the  fourth  story, forming 
a  balcony  at  each,  where  ottomans  are  placed,  and  from 
which  a  fine  view  of  the  curvature  presents  itself,  from  whence 
those  who  have  ascended  may  descry  those  ascending.  On  the 
second  story  is  a  corridor,  with  moulded  juttings  and  fret 
work  overhead ;  these  are  hung  with  festoons  of  jasmines 
and  other  delicate  flowers,  extending  its  whole  length,  and 
lighted  by  globular  lamps,  the  prismatic  ornaments  of  which 
shed  their  soft  glows  on  the  fixtures  beneath.  They  invest 
it  with  the  appearance  of  a  bower  decorated  with  buds  and 
blossoms.  From  this,  ou  the  right,  a  spacious  arched  door, 
surmounted  by  a  semi-circle  of  stained  glass  containing 
devices  of  the  Muses  and  other  allegorical  figures,  leads  into 
an  immense  parlour,  having  a  centre  arch  hung  with  heavy 
folds  of  maroon -coloured  velvet  overspread  with  lace.  Look 
where  you  will,  the  picture  of  former  wealth  and  taste  pre 
sents  itself.  Around  the  walls  hang  costly  paintings,  by 
celebrated  Italian  masters  ;  some  are  portraits  of  the  sove 
reigns  of  England,  from  that  of  Elizabeth  to  George  the 
Third.  Brilliant  lights  jet  forth  from  massive  chandeliers 
and  girandoles,  lighting  up  the  long  line  of  chaste  furniture 
beneath.  The  floor  is  spread  with  softest  Turkey  carpet ; 
groups  of  figures  in  marble,  skilfully  executed,form  a  curiously 
arranged  fire-place  ;  Britannia's  crest  surmounting  the  whole. 
At  each  end  of  the  room  stand  chastely  designed  pieces  of 
statuary  of  heroes  and  heroines  of  past  ages.  Lounges, 
ottomans,  reclines,  and  couches,  elaborately  carved  and 
upholstered,  stand  here  and  there  in  all  their  antiqueness 
and  grandeur.  Pier-glasses,  massive  tables  inlaid  with 
mosaic  and  pearl,  are  arranged  along  the  sides,  and  overhung 
with  flowing  tapestry  that  falls  carelessly  from  the  large 
Doric  windows.  Over  these  windo\vs  are  massive  cornices, 
richly  designed  and  gilded.  Quiet  grandeur  pervades  the 
whole  ;  even  the  fairy-like  dais  that  has  been  raised  for  the 
nuptial  ceremony  rests  upon  four  pieces  of  statuary,  and  is 


A  SCEJTE  OP  MUTT  LIGHTS.  185 

covered  with  crimson  velvet  set  with  sparkling  crystals. 
And  while  this  spectacle  presents  but  the  vanity  of  our 
nature,  grand  but  not  lasting,  the  sweet  breath  of  summer  is 
wafting  its  balmy  odours  to  refresh  and  give  life  to  its 
lifeless  luxury. 

The  gay  cortege  begins  to  assemble  ;  the  halls  fill  with 
guests ;  the  beauty,  grace,  and  intelligence  of  this  little 
fashionable  world,  arrayed  in  its  very  best,  will  be  here  with 
its  best  face.  Sparkling  diamonds  and  other  precious 
stones,  dazzling,  will  enhance  the. gorgeous  display.  And 
yet,  how  much  of  folly's  littleness  does  it  all  present !  All 
this  costly  drapery — all  this  show  of  worldly  voluptuousness 
— all  this  tempest  of  gaiety,  is  but  the  product  of  pain  and 
sorrow.  The  cheek  that  blushes  in  the  gay  circle,  that  fair 
form  born  to  revel  in  luxury,  would  not  blush  nor  shrink  to 
see  a  naked  wretch  driven  with  the  lash.  Tea !  we  have 
said  it  was  the  product  of  pain  and  sorrow ;  it  is  the  force  of 
oppression  wringing  from  ignorance  and  degradation  the 
very  dregs  of  its  life.  Men  say,  what  of  that  ? — do  we  not 
live  in  a  great  good  land  of  liberty  ? 

The  young  affianced, — dressed  in  a  flowing  skirt  of  white 
satin,  with  richly  embroidered  train;  a  neat  bodice  of  the 
same  ma  terial,  with  incisions  of  lace  tipped  with  brilliants  ; 
sleeves  tapering  into  neat  rufflets  of  lace  clasped  upon  the 
wrist  with  diamond  bracelets,  a  stomacher  of  chastely 
worked  lace  with  brilliants  in  the  centre,  relieved  by  two 
rows  of  small  unpolished  pearls, — is  ushered  into  the  parlour, 
followed  by  groomsmen  and  bridesmaids  as  chastely  dressed. 

There  is  a  striking  contrast  between  the  youth  and  deli 
cacy  of  Franconia,  blushing  modestly  and  in  her 'calmness  sup 
pressing  that  inert  repugnance  working  in  her  mind,  and  the 
brusquencss  of  M'Carstrow,  who  assumes  the  free  and  easy 
d  ash,  hoping  thereby  to  lessen  his  years  in  the  picture  of  hi  mself . 
Clotilda, for  the  last  time,  has  arranged  Prancouia's  hair,  which 
lies  in  simple  braids  across  her  polished  brows,  and  folds  upon 
the  back,  where  it  is  secured  and  set  off"  with  a  garland  of 
wild  flowers.  The  hand  that  laid  it  there,  that  arranged  it 
so  neatly,  will  never  arrange  it  again.  As  a  last  token  of 
affection  for  her  young  mistress,  Clotilda  has  plucked  a 
new-blown  cluponique,  white  with  crystal  dew,  and  sur 
rounded  it  with  tiny  buds  and  orange  blossoms :  this, 


186  A  SCENE  OF  MANY  LIGHTS. 

Franconia  holds  in  her  left  hand,  the  lace  to  which  ifc  is 
attached  falling  like  mist  to  the  ground. 

Thus  arrayed,  they  appear  at  the  altar  :  the  good  man  of 
modest  cloth  takes  his  place,  the  ceremony  commences  ;  and 
as  it  proceeds,  and  the  solemn  words  fall  upon  her  ear, 
"  Those  whom  Grod  hath  joined  together  let  no  man  put 
asunder,"  she  raises  her  eyes  upwards,  with  a  look  of  melan 
choly,  as  tears,  like  pearls,  glisten  in  her  soft  expressive 
eyes.  Her  heart  is  moved  with  deeper  emotion  than  this 
display  of  southern  galaxy  can  produce.  The  combination 
of  circumstances  that  has  brought  her  to  the  altar,  the 
decline  of  fortune,  perhaps  disgrace,  worked  upon  her  mind. 
It  is  that  which  has  consigned  her  to  the  arms  of  one  she 
cannot  love,  whose  feelings  and  associations  she  never  can 
respect.  Was  she  to  be  the  ransom  ? — was  she  to  atone  for 
the  loss  of  family  fortune,  family  pride,  family  inconsistency  ? 
kept  forcing  itself  upon  her.  There  was  no  gladness  in  it — 
no  happiness.  And  there  was  the  captive,  the  victim  of 
foul  slavery — so  foul  that  hell  yearns  for  its  abettors — whose 
deliverance  she  prayed  for  with  her  earnest  soul.  She  knew 
the  oppressor's  grasp — she  had,  with  womanly  pride,  come 
forward  to  relieve  the  wronged,  and  she  had  become  sensible 
of  the  ties  binding  her  to  Clotilda.  Unlike  too  many  of  her 
sex,  she  did  not  suppress  her  natural  aifections ;  she  could 
not  see  only  the  slave  in  a  .disowned  sister ;  she  acknow 
ledged  the  relationship,  and  hastened  to  free  her,  to  send 
her  beyond  slavery's  grasp,  into  the  glad  embrace  of  freedom. 

The  ceremony  ends ;  the  smiles  and  congratulations  of 
friends,  as  they  gather  round  Franconia,  shower  upon  her ; 
she  receives  them  coldly,  her  heart  has  no  love  for  them,  it 
throbs  with  anxiety  for  that  slave  whose  liberty  she  has 
planned,  and  for  whose  safety  she  invokes  the  all-protecting 
nand  of  heaven. 


CHAPTEE  XVI. 

ANOTHEB  PHASE  OE  TUB  PICTURE. 

WHILE  the  ceremony  we  have  described  in  the  foregoing 
chapter  was  proceeding,  Clotilda,  yielding  to  the  earnest 
request  of  Franconia,  dresses  herself  in  garments  she  has 
provided,  and  awaits  the  commencement  of  the  scene.  A 
little  schooner  from  one  of  the  Bahama  Islands  lies  moored 
in  the  harbour  awaiting  a  fair  wind  to  return. 

We  need  scarcely  tell  the  reader  that  a  plan  of  escape  had 
b'een  previously  arranged  between  Franconia  and  Maxwell ; 
but  why  she  took  so  earnest  a  part  in  carrying  it  out,  we 
must  reserve  for  another  chapter. 

Maxwell  had  sought  the  captain  of  this  schooner,  found 
him  of  a  generous  disposition,  ready  to  act  in  behalf  of 
freedom.  Having  soon  gained  his  confidence,  and  enlisted  his 
good  services,  it  took  no  great  amount  of  persuasion  to  do 
this,  his  feelings  having  already  been  aroused  against  slavery, 
the  giant  arms  of  which,  stretched  out  between  fear  and  in 
justice,  had  interfered  with  his  rights.  He  had  seen  it 
grasp  the  bones  and  sinews  of  those  who  were  born  in  free 
dom — he  had  seen  men  laugh  at  his  appeals  for  justice — he 
had  seen  one  of  his  free-born  British  seamen  manacled  and 
dragged  to  prison  at  noonday,  merely  because  his  skin  was 
slightly  coloured ;  he  had  been  compelled  to  pay  tribute  to 
keep  alive  the  oppressor's  power,  to  compensate  the  villainy 
rogues  practise  upon  honest  men. 

"  Yes  !"  says  the  captain,  a  sturdy  son  of  the  sea,  in 
answer  to  Maxwell ;  "  bring  her  on  board ;  and  with  a  heart's 
best  wishes,  if  I  don't  land  her  free  and  safe  in  Old  Bahama 
I'll  never  cross  the  gulf  stream  again."  And  the  mode  of 
getting  the  boats  ready  was  at  once  arranged. 

The  night  was  still  and  dark  ;  picturesque  illuminations  in 
ar.cl  around  the  mansion  glittered  in  contrast  with  the  starry 
arch  of  heaven ;  the  soft  south  breeze  fans  to  life  the  dark 
foliage  that  clusters  around — nature  has  clothed  the  scene 
with  her  beauties.  Clotilda — she  has  eagerly  awaited  the 
13 


J88  ANOTHER  PHASE  OF  THE  PICTURE. 

coming  time — descends  to  the  balustrade  in  the  rear  of  the 
mansion.  Here  she  meets  a  band  of  musicians  ;  they  have 
assembled  to  serenade,  and  wait  the  benediction,  a  signal  for 
which  will  be  made  from  one  of  the  balconies.  She  fears 
they  may  recognise  her,  hesitates  at  the  entrance,  paces 
backward  and  forward  in  the  colonnade,  and  professes  to  be 
awaiting  some  message  from  her  mistress.  Again  scanning 
the  scene,  she  watches  intently,  keeping  her  eyes  fixed  in 
the  direction  Pranconia  has  suggested.  "  I  was  to  meet  Max 
well  there !"  works  upon  her  mind  until  she  becomes  nervous 
and  agitated.  "  I  was,  and  must  meet  him  there ;"  and  she 
walks  slowly  back  to  the  entrance,  turns  and  returns,  watches 
until  her  soul  has  nearly  sickened,  at  length  espies  the  joyous 
signal.  Eranconia  did  not  deceive  her.  Oh,  uo  !  he  stands 
there  in  the  glare  of  a  lamp  that  hangs  from  a  willow-tree1. 
She  vaults  over  the  path,  grasps  his  hand  with  a  sister's  affec 
tion,  and  simultaneously  the  soft  swelling  music  of  "  Still 
so  gently  o'er  me  stealing !"  floats  in  the  air,  as  dulcet  and 
soul-stirring  as  ever  touched  the  fancy,  or  clothed  with  holy 
inspiration  the  still  repose  of  a  southern  landscape  at  mid 
night.  But  she  is  with  Maxwell ;  they  have  passed  the  sere- 
naders, — liberty  is  the  haven  of  her  joy,  it  gives  her  new 
hopes  of  the  future.  Those  hopes  dispel  the  regrets  that 
hover  over  her  mind  as  she  thinks  of  her  child. 

For  several  minutes  they  stand  together,  listening  to  the 
music,  and  watching  the  familiar  faces  of  old  friends  as  they 
come  upon  the  balcony  in  the  second  story.  Southern  life 
had  its  pleasant  associations — none  would  attempt  to  deny 
them ;  but  the  evil  brooded  in  the  uncertainty  that  hung 
over  the  fate  of  millions,  now  yielding  indulgence  to  make 
life  pleasant,  then  sinking  them  for  ever  in  the  cruelties  of  a 
tyrant's  power.  It  is  the  crashing  out  of  the  mind's  force, — 
the  subduing  the  mental  and  physical  man  to  make  the 
chattel  complete, — the  shutting  out  of  all  the  succinct  virtues 
that  nurture  freedom,  that  incite  us  to  improve  the  endow 
ments  of  nature,  that  proves  the  rankling  poison.  And  this 
poison  spreads  its  baneful  influence  in  and  around  good 
men's  better  desires. 

After  watching  in  silence  for  a  few  moments,  Clotilda 
gives  vent  to  her  feelings.  "  I  should  like  to  see  old  Daddy 
Bob  once  more,  I  should  !  And  my  poor  Annette  ;  shu  is 
celled  to  be  sold,  I'm  afraid ;  but  I  must  yield  to  the  kind- 


ANOTHER  PHASE  OF  THE  PICTURE.  189 

ness  of  Franconia.  I  have  seen  some  good  times  among 
the  old  folks  on  the  plantation.  And  there's  Aunt  Rachel, 
— a  good  creature  after  all, — and  Harry.  Well ;  I  mustn't 
think  of  these  things;  freedomis  sweetest,"  she  says.  Maxwell 
suggests  that  they  move  onward.  The  music  dies  away  in 
the  stillness,  as  they  turn  from,  the  scene  to  flee  beyond  the 
grasp  of  men  who  traffic  in  human  things  called  property, — 
not  by  a  great  constitution,  but  under  a  constitution's  free 
dom  giving  power.  Would  that  a  great  and  glorious  nation 
had  not  sold  its  freedom  to  the  damning  stain  of  avarice ! 
would  that  it  had  not  perverted  that  holy  word,  for  the 
blessings  of  which  generations  have  struggled  in  vain !  would 
that  it  had  not  substituted  a  freedom  that  mystifies  a  juris 
prudence, — that  brings  forth  the  strangest  fruit  of  human 
passions, — that  makes  prison  walls  and  dreary  cells  death- 
Beds  of  the  innocent  ; — that  permits  human  beings  to  be 
born  for  the  market,  and  judged  by  the  ripest  wisdom ! 
"Has  God  ordained  such  freedom  lasting?"  will  force 
itself  upon  us. — We  must  return  to  our  humble  adventurers. 
The  fugitives  reached  the  back  gate,  leading  into  a  narrow 
lane,  from  whence  they  cross  into  the  main  street.  Clotilda 
has  none  of  the  African  about  her;  the  most  observing 
guardsman  would  not  stop  her  for  a  slave.  They  pass  along 
unmolested ;  the  guardsmen,  some  mounted  and  some 
walking  at  a  slow  pace,  bow  politely.  No  one  demands  a 
pass.  They  arrive  in  safety  at  a  point  about  two  miles  from 
the  city,  where  the  captain  and  his  boat  await  them.  No  time 
is  lost  in  embarking  :  the  little  bark  rides  at  anchor  in  the 
stream ;  the  boat  quietly  glides  to  her ;  they  are  safely  on 
board.  A  few  minutes  more,  and  the  little  craft  moves 
seaward  under  the  pressure  of  a  gentle  breeze.  There  is 
no  tragic  pursuit  of  slave-hunters,  no  tramp  of  horses  to 
terrify  the  bleeding  victim,  no  bowlings  of  ravenous  blood 
hounds, — nothing  that  would  seem,  to  make  the  issue  free 
dom  or  death.  No  !  all  is  as  still  as  a  midsummer  night 
in  the  same  clime.  The  woman — this  daughter  of  slavery's 
vices — cherishes  a  love  for  freedom  ;  the  hope  of  gaining  it, 
and  improving  those  endowments  nature  has  bestowed 
upon  her,  freshens  her  spirits  and  gives  her  life  to  look 
forward  without  desponding.  Maxwell  is  her  friend ;  he 
has  witnessed  the  blighting  power  of  slavery — not  alone  in 
its  workings  upon  the  black  man,  but  upon  the  lineal 


190  ANOTHBB  PHASE  OE  THE  PICTUflE. 

offspring  of  freemen — and  has  resolved  to  work  against  its 
mighty  arm.  "With  him  it  is  the  spontaneous  action  of  a 
generous  heart  sympathising  for  the  wrongs  inflicted  upon 
the  weak,  and  loving  to  see  right  respected. 

The  fair  Franconia,  who  has  just  been  forced  to  accept 
the  hand  of  a  mere  charlatan,  disclosed  the  secrets  of  her 
mind  to  him ;  it  was  she  who  incited  him  to  an  act  which 
might  have  sacrificed  his  freedom,  perhaps  his  life.  But 
mankind  is  possessed  of  an  innate  feeling  to  do  good  ;  and 
there  is  a  charm  added  when  the  object  to  be  served  is  a 
fair  creature  about  to  be  dragged  into  the  miseries  of 
slavery.  Even  the  rougher  of  our  kind  cannot  resist  it ; 
and  at  times — we  except  the  servile  opinion  which  slavery 
inflicts  upon  a  people  through  its  profitable  issues— prompts 
the  ruffian  to  generous  acts. 

The  little  bark,  bound  for  the  haven  of  freedom,  sailed 
onward  over  the  blue  waters,  and  when  daylight  dawned 
had  crossed  the  bar  separating  the  harbour  from  the  ocean. 
Clotilda  ascends  to  the  deck,  sits  on  the  companion-seat,  and 
in  a  pensive  mood  watches  the  fading  hills  where  slavery 
stains  the  fair  name  of  freedom, — where  oppression  rears 
its  dark  monuments  to  for  ever  torture  and  disgrace  a  harm 
less  race.  She  looks  intently  upon  them,  as  one  by  one 
they  fade  in  the  obscure  horizon,  seeming  to  recall  the  many 
associations,  pleasant  and  painful,  through  which  she  has 
passed.  She  turns  from  the  contemplation  to  the  deep 
blue  sea,  and  the  unclouded  arch  of  heaven,  as  they  spread 
out  before  her :  they  are  God's  own,  man  cannot  pollute 
them  ;  they  are  like  a  picture  of  glory  inspiring  her  with 
emotions  she  cannot  suppress.  As  the  last  dim  sight  of 
land  is  lost  in  the  distance,  she  waves  a  handkerchief,  as  if 
to  bid  it  adieu  for  ever  ;  then  looking  at  Maxwell,  who  sits 
by  her  side,  she  says,  with  a  sigh,  "  I  am  beyond  it !  Free, 
— yes,  free !  But,  have  I  not  left  a  sufferer  behind  r  There 
is  my  poor  Annette,  my  child;  I  will  clasp  her  to  my  bosom, 
— I  will  love  her  more  when  I  meet  her  again.  Grood-bye, 
Franconia — dear  Franconia  !  She  will  be  a  mother  to  my 
little  one ;  she  will  keep  her  word."  Thus  saying,  she 
casts  a  look  upward,  invokes  heaven  to  be  merciful  to  her 
persecutors, — to  protect  her  child, — to  guard  Franconia 
through  life.  Tears  stream  down  her  cheeks  as  she  svaves 
her  hand  and  retires  to  the  cabin. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

PLEASANT  DEALINGS  WITH  HUMAN  PROPERTY. 

must  deal  gently  with  our  scenes ;  we  must  describe 
them  without  exaggeration,  and  in  rotation.  While  the 
scenes  we  have  just  described  were  proceeding,  another,  of 
deeper  import,  and  more  expressive  of  slavery's  complicated 
combin^ions,  was  being  enacted  in  another  part  of  the  city. 
A  rattle  of  ordinary  character  had  been  announced  in  the 
morning  papers, — we  say  ordinary,  because  it  came  within 
the  ordinary  specification  of  trade,  and  violated  neither 
statute  law  nor  municipal  ordinance, — and  the  raffler, 
esteemed  a  great  character  in  the  city,  was  no  less  celebrated 
for  his  taste  in  catering  for  the  amusement  of  his  patrons. 
On  this  occasion,  purporting  to  be  a  very  great  one,  the 
inducements  held  out  were  no  less  an  incentive  of  gambling 
propensities  than  an  aim  to  serve  licentious  purposes.  In  a 
word,  it  offered  "  all  young  connoisseurs  of  beauty  a  chance 
to  procure  one  of  the  finest-developed  young  wenches, — 
fair,  bright,  perfectly  brought  up,  young,  chaste,  and  of 
most  amiable  disposition,  for  a  trifling  sum."  This  was  all 
straight  in  the  way  of  trade,  in  a  free  country ;  nobody 
should  blush  at  it  (some  maidens,  reading  the  notice,  might 
feel  modestly  inclined  to),  because  nobody  could  gainsay  it. 
This  is  prize  No.  1,  prime — as  set  down  in  the  schedule— 
and  the  amount  per  toss  being  only  a  trifle,  persons  m 
want  of  such  prizes  are  respectfully  informed  of  the  fact 
that  only  a  few  chances  remain,  which  will  command  a 
premium  before  candle-light.  Prize  No.  2  is  a  superior 
pony,  of  well-known  breed — here  the  pedigree  is  set  forth  ; 
which  advantage  had  not  been  accorded  to  the  human  animal, 
lest  certain  members  of  the  same  stock  should  blush — raised 
with  great  care  and  attention,  and  exactly  suited  for  a 
gentleman's  jant  or  a  lady's  saddle-nag.  Prize  No.  3  is  a 
superior  setter  dog,  who  has  also  been  well  brought  up,  is 
from  good  stock,  is  kind  to  children,  who  play,  with  him 
when  they  please.  He  knows  niggers,  is  good  to  watch 


192  PLEASANT  DEALINGS  WITH  HUMAN  PROPERTY. 

them,  has  been  known  to  catch  runaways,  to  tear  their 
shins  wonderfully.  Indeed,  according  to  the  setting  forth 
of  the  sagacious  animal,  he  would  seem  to  understand  slave- 
law  quite  wellt  and  to  be  ready  and  willing  to  lend  his  aid  with 
dogs  of  a  different  species  to  enforce  its  provisions.  The  only 
fault  the  brute  has,  if  fault  it  may  be  called,  is  that  he  does  not 
understand  the  constitutionality  of  the  fugitive  slave  law, — 
a  law  destined  to  be  exceedingly  troublesome  among  a  free 
people.  Did  the  sagacity  of  the  animal  thus  extend  to  the 
sovereign  law  of  the  land  of  the  brave  and  free,  he  would 
bring  a  large  price  at  the  north,  where  men  are  made  to  do 
what  dogs  most  delight  in  at  the  south. 

The  first  prize,  as  set  forth,  is  valued  at  seven  hundred 
dollars :  the  magnanimous  gentleman  who  caters  thus  gene 
rously  for  his  patrons  states  the  delicate  prize  to  be  worth 
fifty  or  a  hundred  dollars  more,  and  will,  with  a  little  more 
developing,  be  worth  a  great  deal  more  money.  Hence,  he 
hopes  his  patrons  will  duly  appreciate  enterprising  liberality. 

The  second  prize  he  considers  generously  low  at  two 
hundred  dollars ;  and  the  dog — the  sagacious  animal  con 
stituting  the  third  prize — would  be  a  great  bargain  to 
anybody  wanting  such  an  animal,  especially  in  considera 
tion  of  his  propensity  to  catch  negroes,  at  sixty  dollars. 
The  trio  of  human  and  animal  prizes  produce  no  distinctive 
effect  upon  the  feelings  of  those  who  speculate  in  such 
property  ;  with  them  it  is  only  a  matter  of  gradation  between 
dollars  and  cents. 

But,  to  be  more  off-handed  in  this  generous  undertaking, 
and  in  consideration  of  the  deep-felt  sensibility  and  hospi 
tality  which  must  always  protect  southern  character,  the 
chances  will  be  restricted  to  two  hundred,  at  five  dollars 
per  chance.  Money  must  be  paid  in  before  friends  can 
consider  themselves  stock-holders.  It  is  to  be  a  happy  time, 
in  a  happy  country,  where  all  are  boasted  happy.  The  first 
lucky  dog  will  get  the  human  prize ;  the  next  lucky  dog 
will  get  the  pony  ;  the  third  will  make  a  dog  of  himself  by 
only  winning  a  dog.  The  fun  of  the  thing,  however,  will 
be  the  great  attraction  ;  men  of  steady  habits  are  reminded 
of  this.  Older  gentlemen,  having  very  nice  taste  for  colour, 
but  no  particular  scruples  about  religion,  and  who  seldom 
think  morals  worth  much  to  niggers,  "  because  they  aint 
got  sense  to  appreciate  such  things,"  are  expected  to  be  on 


PLEASANT  DEALINGS  WITH  HUMAN  PROPERTY.  193 

hand.  Those  who  know  bright  and  fair  niggers  were  never 
made  for  anything  under  the  sun  but  to  gratify  theii  own 
desires,  are  expected  to  spread  the  good  news,  to  set  the 
young  aristocracy  of  the  city  all  agog, — to  start  up  a  first- 
best  crowd, — have  some  tall  drinking  and  first-rate  amuse 
ment.  Everybody  is  expected  to  tell  his  friend,  and  his 
friend  is  expected  to  help  the  generous  man  out  with  his 
generous  scheme,  and  all  are  expected  to  join  in  the 
"  bender"  Nobody  must  forget  that  the  whole  thing  is  to 
come  off  at  "  Tour  House," — an  eating  and  drinking  saloon, 
of  great  capacity,  kept  by  the  very  distinguished  man, 
Mr.  O'Brodereque. 

Mr.  O'Brodereque,  who  always  pledges  his  word  upon 
the  honour  of  a  southern  gentleman — frequently  asserting 
his  greatness  in  the  political  world,  and  wondering  who 
could  account  for  his  not  finding  his  way  into  Congress, 
where  talent  like  his  would  be  brought  out  for  the  pro 
tection  of  our  south — has  made  no  end  of  money  by 
selling  a  monstrous  deal  of  very  bad  liquor  to  customers  of 
all  grades, — niggers  excepted.  And,  although  his  hair  is  well 
mixed  with  the  grey  of  many  years,  he  declares  the  guilt  of 
selling  liquor  to  niggers  is  not  on  his  shoulders.  It  is  owing 
to  this  clean  state  of  his  character,  that  he  has  been  able 
to  maintain  his  aristocratic  position.  "  Yes,  indeed,"  said 
one  of  his  patrons,  who,  having  fallen  in  arrears,  found 
himself  undergoing  the  very  disagreeable  process  cf  being 
politely  kicked  into  the  street,  "  money  makes  a  man  big  in 
the  south :  big  in  niggers,  big  in  politics,  big  with  every 
thing  but  the  way  I'm  big, — with  an  empty  pocket.  I 
don't  care,  though ;  he's  going  up  by  the  process  that  I'm 
coming  down.  There's  philosophy  in  that."  It  could  not 
be  denied  that  Mr.  O'Brodereque-commonly  called  General 
O'Brodereque — was  very  much  looked  up  to  by  great 
people  and  Bacchanalians, — men  who  pay  court  to  appease 
the  wondrous  discontent  of  the  belly,  to  the  total  neglect 
of  the  back.  Not  a  few  swore,  by  all  their  importance,  a 
greater  man  never  lived.  He  is,  indeed,  all  that  can  be 
desired  to  please  the  simple  pretensions  of  a  free-thinking 
and  free-acting  southern  people,  who,  having  elevated  him 
to  the  office  of  alderman,  declare  him  exactly  the  man  to 
develope  its  functions.  A  few  of  the  old  school  aristocracy, 
who  still  retain  the  bad  left  them  by  their  English  ancestry. 


194         PLEASANT  DEALINGS  WITH  HUMAN  PBOPBEl'Y. 

having  long  since  forgotten  the  good,  do  sneer  now  and 
then  at  Mr.  Brodereque'a  pretensions.  But,  like  ail  great 
men  who  have  a  great  object  to  carry  out,  he  affects  to 
frown  such  things  down, — to  remind  the  perpetrators  of 
such  aristocratic  sneers  what  a  spare  few  they  are.  He 
asserts,  and  with  more  truth  than  poetry,  that  any  gentle 
man  having  the  capacity  to  deluge  the  old  aristocracy  with 
doubtful  wine,  line  his  pockets  while  draining  theirs — all 
the  time  making  them  feel  satisfied  he  imports  the  choicest— 
and  who  can  keep  on  a  cheerful  face  the  while,  can  fill  an 
alderman's  chair  to  a  nicety. 

In  addition  to  the  above,  Mr.  O'Brodereque  is  one  of 
those  very  accommodating  individuals  who  never  fail  to 
please  their  customers,  while  inciting  their  vanity ;  and,  at 
the  same  time,  always  secure  a  good  opinion  for  themselves. 
And,  too,  he  was  liberally  inclined,  never  refused  tick,  but 
always  made  it  tell ;  by  which  well-devised  process,  his 
patrons  were  continually  becoming  his  humble  servants, 
ready  to  serve  him  at  call. 

Always  civil,  and  even  obsequious  at  first,  ready  to  conde 
scend  and  accommodate,  he  is  equally  prompt  when  matters 
require  that  peculiar  turn  which  southerners  frequently 
find  themselves  turned  into,  -^ne-more  tick  and  a  turn  out 
of  doors.  At  times,  Mr.  O'Brodereque's  customers  have 
the  very  unenviable  consolation  of  knowing  that  a  small 
document  called  a  mortgage  of  their  real  and  personal 
property  remains  in  his  hands,  which  he  will  very  soon  find 
it  necessary  to  foreclose. 

It  is  dark, — night  has  stolen  upon  us  again, — the  hour 
for  the  raffle  is  at  hand.  The  saloon,  about  a  hundred  and  forty 
feet  long  by  forty  wide,  is  brilliantly  lighted  for  the  occasion. 
The  gas-lights  throw  strange  shadows  upon  the  distemper 
painting  with  which  the  walls  are  decorated.  Hanging  care 
lessly  here  and  there  are  badly-daubed  paintings  of  battle 
scenes  and  heroic  devices,  alternated  with  lithographic  and 
badly-executed  engravings  of  lustfully-exposed  females.  Soon 
the  saloon  fills  with  a  throng  of  variously-mixed  gentlemen. 
The  gay,  the  grave,  the  old,  and  the  young  men  of  the 
fashionable  world,  are  present.  Some  affect  the  fast  young 
man ;  others  seem  mere  speculators,  attracted  to  the  place 
for  the  purpose  of  enjoying  an  hour,  seeing  the  sight,  and, 
it  may  be,  taking  a  throw  for  the  "gal."  The  crowd  pre- 


PLEASANT  DEALINGS  WITH  HUMAN  PROPERTY.  195 

Bents  a  singular  contrast  of  beings.  Some  are  dressed  to 
the  very  extreme  of  fantastic  fashion,  and  would  seem  to  have 
wasted  their  brains  in  devising  colours  for  their  backs; 
others,  aspiring  to  the  seriously  genteel,  are  fashioned  in 
very  extravagant  broadcloth  ;  while  a  third  group  is 
dressed  in  most  niggardly  attire,  which  sets  very  loosely. 
In  addition  to  this  they  wear  very  large  black,  white,  and 
grey-coloured  felt  hats,  slouched  over  their  heads ;  while 
their  nether  garments,  of  red  and  brown  linsey-woolsey, 
fit  like  Falstaff's  doublet  on  a  whip  stock.  They  seem 
proud  of  the  grim  tufts  of  hair  that,  like  the  moss-grown 
clumps  upon  an  old  oak,  spread  over  their  faces ;  and 
they  move  about  in  the  grotesque  crowd,  making  their 
physiognomies  increase  its  piquancy. 

The  saloon  is  one  of  those  places  at  the  south  where 
great  men,  small  men,  men  of  different  spheres  and  occupa 
tions,  men  in  prominently  defined  positions,  men  in  doubtful 
calls  of  life,  and  men  most  disreputably  employed,  most  do 
congregate.  At  one  end  of  the  saloon  is  a  large  oyster 
counter,  behind  which  stand  two  coloured  men,  with  sauces, 
savories,  and  other  mixtures  at  hand,  ready  to  serve 
customers  who  prefer  the  delicacy  in  its  raw  state.  Men 
are  partaking  without  noting  numbers.  Mr.  O'Brodereque 
has  boys  serving  who  take  very  good  care  of  the  numbers. 
Extending  along  one  side  of  the  saloon  is  an  elaborately 
carved  mahogany  counter,  with  panels  of  French  white 
and  gilt  mouldings.  This  is  surmounted  with  a  marble 
slab,  upon  which  stand  well-filled  decanters,  vases,  and 
salvers.  Behind  this  counter,  genteelly-dressed  and  polite 
attendants  are  serving  customers  who  stand  along  its  side  in 
a  line,  treating  in  true  southern  style.  The  calling  for 
drinks  is  a  problem  for  nice  ears  to  solve,  so  varied  are  the 
sounds,  so  strange  the  names :  style,  quantity,  and  mixture 
seemed  without  limit,  set  on  in  various  colours  to  flow  and 
flood  the  spirits  of  the  jovial.  On  the  opposite  side  of  the 
saloon  are  rows  of  seats  and  arm-chairs,  interspersed  with 
small  tables,  from  which  the  beverage  can  be  imbibed  more 
at  ease.  On  the  second  story  is  the  great  "  eating  saloon," 
with  its  various  apartments,  its  curtained  boxes,  its  prim- 
looking  waiters,  its  pier-glass  walls.  There  is  every  accom 
modation  for  belly  theologians,  who  may  discuss  the  choicest 
viands  of  the  season. 


196         PLEASANT  DEALINGS  WITH  HUMAN  PttOPEBTT. 

The  company  are  assembled, — the  lower  saloon  is  crowded; 
Mr.  O'Brodereque,  with  great  dignity,  mounts  the  stand, — 
a  little  table  standing  at  one  end  of  the  room.  His  face 
reddens,  he  gives  several  delinquent  coughs,  looks  round 
and  smiles  upon  his  motley  patrons,  points  a  finger  recog- 
nisingly  at  a  wag  in  the  corner,  who  has  addressed  some 
remarks  to  him,  puts  his  thumbs  in  the  sleeve-holes  of  his 
vest,  throws  back  his  coat-collar,  puts  himself  in  a  defiant 
attitude,  and  is  ready  to  deliver  himself  of  his  speech. 

"  A  political  speech  from  the  General !  Gentlemen,  hats 
off,  and  give  your  attention  to  Mr.  General  O'Brodereque's 
remarks  !"  resounds  from  several  voices.  Mr.  O'Brodereque 
is  somewhat  overcome,  his  friends  compliment  him  so :  he 
stands,  hesitating,  as  if  he  had  lost  the  opening  part  of  his 
speech,  like  a  statue  on  a  molasses-cask.  At  length  he 
speaks.  "  If  it  was  a  great  political  question,  gentlemen,  I'd 
get  the  twist  of  the  thing, — I'd  pitch  into  it,  big  !  These 
little  things  always  trouble  public  men  more  than  the 
important  intricacies  of  government  do.  You  see,  they  are 
not  comesurate, — that's  it !"  says  Mr.  Brodereque,  looking 
wondrously  wise  the  while.  After  bowing,  smiling,  and 
acknowledging  the  complimeHts~df  his  generous  customers 
with  prodigious  grace,  he  merely  announces  to  his  friends 
— with  eloquence  that  defies  imitation,  and  turns  rhetoric 
into  a  discordant  exposition  of  his  own  important  self — that, 
not  having  examined  the  constitution  for  more  nor  three 
Sundays,  they  must,  upon  the  honour  of  a  gentleman, 
excuse  his  political  speech.  "  But,  gents,"  he  says,  "  you 
all  know  how  I  trys  to  please  ye  in  the  way  of  raffles  and 
such  things,  and  how  I  throws  in  the  belly  and  stomach 
fixins.  Now,  brighten  up,  ye  men  of  taste — Mr.  Bro 
dereque  laughs  satisfactorily  as  he  surveys  his  crowd — I'm 
going  to  do  the  thing  up  brown  for  ye, — to  give  ye  a  chance 
for  a  bit  of  bright  property  what  ye  don't  get  every  day ; 
can't  scare  up  such  property  only  once  in  a  while.  It'll 
make  ye  old  fellers  wink,  some—Mr.  O'Brodereque  winks  at 
several  aged  gentlemen,  whose  grey  hair  is  figurative  in  the 
crowd— think  about  being  young  again.  And,  my  friends 
below  thirty — my  young  friends — ah,  ye  rascals  !  I  thought 
I'd  play  the  tune  on  the  right  string!" — he  laughs,  and 
puts  his  finger  to  his  mouth  quizzically — "  I  likes  to  suit  ye, 
and  please  ye :  own  her  up,  now, — don't  I  ?" 


PLEASANT  DEALINGS  WITH  HUMAN  PEOPEETY.     i  ^7 

"Hurrah!  for  Brod, — Brod's  a  trump!"  again  resounds 
from  a  dozen  voices. 

They  all  agree  to  the  remark  that  nobody  can  touch  the 
great  Mr.  O'Brodereque  in  getting  up  a  nice  bit  of  fun,  amus 
ing  young  men  with  more  money  than  mind,  and  being  in  the 
favour  of  aristocratic  gentlemen  who  think  nothing  of 
staking  a  couple  of  prime  niggers  on  a  point  of  faro. 

Mr.  O'Brodereque  has  been  interrupted ;  he  begs  his 
friends  will,  for  a  moment,  cease  their  compliments  and 
allow  him  to  proceed.  "  Gentlemen  !"  he  continues,  "  the 
gal's  what  ye  don't  get  every  day ;  and  she's  as  choice  as 
she's  young ;  and  she's  as  handsome  as  she's  young ;  and 
for  this  delicious  young  crittur  throws  are  only  five  dollars 
a  piece."  The  sentimental  southern  gentleman  has  no 
reference  to  the  throes  of  anguish  that  are  piercing  the 
wounded  soul  of  the  woman. 

"  A  gentleman  what  ain't  got  a  V*  in  his  pocket 
better  not  show  his  winkers  in  this  crowd.  After  that, 
gentlemen,  there's  a  slap-up  pony,  and  one  of  the 
knowinest  dogs  outside  of  a  court-house.  .Now, — gents ! 
if  this  ain't  some  tall  doings, — some  of  a  raffle,  just  take 
my  boots  and  I'll  put  it  for  Texas.  A  chance  for  a  nigger 
gal — a  pony — a  dog ;  who  on  'arth  wants  more,  gentle 
men  ? "  Mr.  O'Brodereque  again  throws  back  his  coat, 
shrugs  his  shoulders,  wipes  the  perspiration  from  his  brow, 
and  is  about  to  descend  from  the  table.  No,  he  won't  come 
down  just  yet.  He  has  struck  a  vein ;  his  friends  are 
getting  up  a  favourable  excitement. 

"  Bravo !  bravo ! — long  may  General  Brodereque  keep 
the  hospitable  Your  House !  Who  wouldn't  give  a  vote  for 
Brodereque  at  the  next  election  ?"  re-echoes  through  the 
room. 

"  One  more  remark,  gentlemen."  Mr.  Brodereque  again 
wipes  the  perspiration  from  his  forehead,  and  orders  a  glass 
of  water,  to  loosen  his  oratorical  organs.  He  drinks  the 
water,  seems  to  increase  in  his  own  greatness  ;  his  red  face 
glows  redder,  he  makes  a  theatrical  gesticulation  with  his  right 
hand,  crumples  his  hair  into  curious  points,  and  proceeds: — 
"  The  lucky  man  what  gets  the  gal  prize  is  to  treat  the 
crowd !"  This  is  seconded  and  carried  by  acclamation, 
without  a  dissenting  voice. 

*  Five-dollar  bill. 


198         PLEASANT  DEALINGS  WITH  HUMAtf  PEOPJ3KTY. 

A  murmuring  noise,  as  of  some  one  in  trouble,  is  now  heard 
at  the  door :  the  crowd  gives  way  :  a  beautiful  mulatto  girl, 
in  a  black  silk  dress,  with  low  waist  and  short  sleeves,  and 
morocco  slippers  on  her  feet,  is  led  in  and  placed  upon  the 
stand  Mr.  O'Brodereque  has  just  vacated.  Her  complexion 
is  that  of  a  swarthy  Greek ;  her  countenance  is  moody  and 
reflective ;  her  feelings  are  stung  with  the  poison  of  her 
degraded  position.  This  last  step  of  her  disgrace  broods  in 
the  melancholy  of  her  face.  Shame,  pain,  hope,  and  fear, 
combine  to  goad  her  very  soul.  But  it's  all  for  a  bit  of  fun, 
clearly  legal ;  it's  all  in  accordance  with  society ;  misfortune 
is  turned  into  a  plaything,  that  generous,  good,  and  noble- 
hearted  men  may  be  amused.  Those  who  stand  around 
her  are  extravagant  with  joy.  After  remaining  a  few 
moments  in  silence,  a  mute  victim  of  generous  freedom,  she 
turns  her  head  bashfully,  covers  her  face  with  her  hands. 
Her  feelings  gush  forth  in  a  stream  of  tears ;  she  cannot 
suppress  them  longer. 

There  is  a  touching  beauty  in  her  face,  made  more 
effective  by  the  deplorable-condition  to  which  she  is  reduced. 
Again  she  looks  upward,  and  covers  her  face  with  her 
hands  ;  her  soul  seems  merged  in  supplication  to  the  God 
who  rules  all  things  aright.  He  is  a  forgiving  God  !  Can 
he  thus  direct  man's  injustice  to  man,  while  this  poor 
broken  flower  thus  withers  under  the  bane  ?  Sad,  melan 
choly,  doomed  !  there  is  no  hope,  no  joy  for  her.  She  weeps 
over  her  degradation. 

"Stop  that  whimperin!"  says  a  ruffianly  bystander,  who 
orders  a  coloured  boy  to  let  down  her  hair.  He  obeys  the 
summons ;  it  falls  in  thick,  black,  undulating  tresses  over 
her  neck  and  shoulders.  ,  A  few  moments  more,  and  she 
resumes  a  calm  appearance,  looks  resolutely  upon  her 
auditors,  with  indignation  and  contempt  pictured  in  her 
countenance. 

"  She'll  soon  get  over  that !"  ejaculates  another  bystander, 
as  he  smooths  the  long  beard  on  his  haggard  face.  "  Strip 
her  down !"  The  request  is  no  sooner  made,  than  Mr. 
O'Brodereque  mounts  the  stand  to  perform  the  feat.  "  Great 
country  this,  gentlemen!"  he  speaks,  taking  her  by  the 
shoulders. 

"  All  off!  all  off",  general !"  is  the  popular  demand. 

The   sensitive  nature  of  the  innocent  girl  recoils;  she 


PLEASANT  DEALINGS  WITH  HUMAN  PROPERTY.  199 

cringes  from  his  touch  ;  she  shudders,  and  vainly  attempts 
to  resist.  She  must  yield;  the  demand  is  imperative. 
Her  dress  falls  at  Mr.  O'Brodereque's  touch.  She  stands 
before  the  gazing  crowd,  exposed  to  the  very  thighs,  holding 
the  loose  folds  of  her  dress  in  her  hands.  There  is  no 
sympathy  for  those  moistened  eyes  ;  oh,  no  !  it  is  a  luscious 
feast— puritans  have  no  part  in  the  sin— for  those  who,  in 
our  laud  of  love  and  liberty,  buy  and  sell  poor  human 
nature,  and  make  it  food  for  serving  hell. 

Naked  she  stands  for  minutes ;  the  assembled  gentlemen 
have  feasted  their  eyes, — good  men  have  played  the  part  of 
their  good  natures.  General  O'Brodereque,  conscious  of 
his  dignity,  orders  her  to  be  taken  down.  The  waiter 
performs  the  duty,  and  she  is  led  out  midst  the  acclamations 
and  plaudits  of  the  crowd,  who  call  for  the  raffle. 

Mr.  O'Brodereque  hopes  gentlemen  are  satisfied  with 
what  they  have  seen,  and  will  pledge  his  honour  that  the 
pony  and  dog  are  quite  as  sound  and  healthy  as  the  wench 
whose  portions  they  have  had  a  chance  to  shy ;  and  for 
which— the  extra  sight' — they  should  pay  an  extra  treat. 
This,  however,  his  generosity  will  not  allow  him  to  stand 
upon ;  and,  seeing  how  time  is  precious,  and  the  weather 
warm,  he  hopes  his  friends  will  excuse  the  presence  of  the 
animals,  take  his  word  of  honour  in  consideration  of  the 
sight  of  the  wench. 

"  Now,  gentlemen,"  he  says,  "  the  throws  are  soon  to 
commence,  and  all  what  ain't  put  down  the  tin  better  attend 
that  ar'  needful  arrangement,  quicker!" 

As  the  general  concludes  this  very  significant  invitation, 
Dan  Bengal,  Anthony  Bomescos,  and  Nath  Nimrod,  enter 
together.  Their  presence  creates  some  little  commotion, 
for  Bomescos  is  known  to  be  turbulent,  and  very  uncertain 
when  liquor  flows  freely,  which  is  the  case  at  present. 

"  I  say,  general ! — old  hoss !  I  takes  all  the  chances 
what's  left,"  Bomescos  shouts  at  the  top  of  his  voice.  His 
eyes  glare  with  anxiety, — his  red,  savage  face,  doubly 
sun-scorched,  glows  out  as  he  elbows  his  way  through  the 
crowd  up  to  the  desk,  where  sits  a  corpulent  clerk.  "  Beg 
your  pardon,  gentlemen :  not  so  fast,  if  you  please !"  he 
says,  entering  names  in  his  ledger,  receiving  money,  "  doing 
the  polite  of  the  establishment." 

Romescos's  coat  and  nether  clothing  are  torn  in  several 


200         PLEASANT  DEALINGS  WITH  HUMAN  PROPERTY. 

places,  a  hunting-belt  girdles  his  waist ;  a  bowie-knife 
(Sheffield  make)  protrudes  from  his  breast-pocket,  his  hair 
hangs  in  jagged  tufts  over  the  collar  of  his  coat,  which,  with 
the  rough  moccasons  on  his  feet,  give  him  an  air  of  fierce 
desperaton  and  recklessness.  His  presence  is  evidently 
viewed  with  suspicion ;  he  is  a  curious  object  which  the 
crowd  are  willing  to  give  ample  space  to. 

"  No,  you  don't  take  'em  all,  neither  !"  says  another,  in 
a  defiant  tone.  The  remaining  "  chances  "  are  at  once  put 
up  for  sale  ;  they  bring  premiums,  as  one  by  one  they  are 
knocked  down  to  the  highest  bidders,  some  as  much  as  fifty 
per  cent,  advance.  Gentlemen  are  not  to  know  it,  because 
Mr.  O'Brodereque  thinks  his  honour  above  everything 
else ;  but  the  fact  is,  there  is  a  collusion  between  Romescos 
and  the  honourable  Mr.  O'Brodereque.  The  former  is 
playing  his  part  to  create  a  rivalry  that  will  put  dollars  and 
cents  into  the  pocket  of  the  latter. 

"  Well !"  exclaims  Rornescos,  with  great  indifference,  as 
soon  as  the  sale  had  concluded,  "  I've  got  seven  throws, 
all  lucky  ones.  I'll  take  any  man's  bet  for  two  hundred 
dollars  that  I  gets  the  gal  prize."  Nobody  seems  inclined 
to  accept  the  challenge.  A  table  is  set  in  the  centre  of  the 
saloon,  the  dice  are  brought  on,  amidst  a  jargon  of  noise  and 
confusion  ;  to  this  is  added  drinking,  smoking,  swearing,  and 
all  kinds  of  small  betting. 

The  raffle  commences ;  one  by  one  the  numbers  are 
called.  Romescos'  turn  has  come ;  all  eyes  are  intently  set 
upon  him.  He  is  celebrated  for  tricks  of  his  trade ;  he 
seldom  repudiates  the  character,  and  oftener  prides  in  the 
name  of  a  shrewd  one,  who  can  command  a  prize  for  his 
sharp  dealing.  In  a  word,  he  has  a  peculiar  faculty  of 
shielding  the  doubtful  transactions  of  a  class  of  men  no 
less  dishonest,  but  more  modest  in  point  of  reputation. 

Eomescos  spreads  himself  wonderfully,  throws  his  dice, 
and  exults  over  the  result.  He  has  turned  up  three  sixes 
at  the  first  and  second  throws,  and  two  sixes  and  five  at  the 
third. 

"  Beat  that !  who  can  ?"  he  says.  No  one  discovers  that 
he  has,  by  a  very  dexterous  movement,  slipped  a  set  of 
false  dice  into  the  box,  while  O'Brodereque  diverted  attention 
at  the  moment  by  introducing  the  pony  into  the  saloon. 

We  will  pass  over  many  things  that  occurred,  and  inform 


PLEASANT  DEALINGS  WITH  HUMAN  PROPERTY.    201 

the  reader  that  Eomese.os  won  the  first  prize — the  woman. 
The  dog  and  pony  prizes  were  carried  off  by  legitimate 
winners.  This  specific  part  of  the  scene  over,  a  band  of 
negro  minstrels  are  introduced,  who  strike  up  their  happy 
glees,  the  music  giving  new  life  to  the  revelry.  Such  a 
medley  of  drinking,  gambling,  and  carousing  followed,  as 
defies  description.  What  a  happy  thing  it  is  to  be  free ; 
they  feel  this, — it  it  is  a  happy  feeling !  The  sport  lasts 
till  the  small  hours  of  morning  advance.  Romescos  is 
seen  leaving  the  saloon  very  quietly. 

"There!"  says  Mr.  O'Brodereque  exultiugly,  "he  hasn't 
got  so  much  of  a  showing.  That  nigger  gal  ain't  what  she's 
cracked  up  to  be!"  and  he  shakes  his  head  knowingly, 
thrusts  his  hands  deep  into  his  breeches  pockets,  smiles  with 
an  air  of  great  consequence. 

"  Where  did  ye  raise  the  critter  ?  devil  of  a  feller  ye  be, 
Brodereque !"  says  a  young  sprig,  giving  his  hat  a  parti 
cular  set  on  the  side  of  his  head,  and  adjusting  his  eye-glass 
anew.  "  Ye  ain't  gin  her  a  name,  in  all  the  showin',"  he 
continues,  drawlingly. 

"  That  gal !  She  ain't  worth  so  much,  a'ter  all.  She's 
of  Marston's  stock ;  Ellen  Juvarna,  I  think  they  call  her. 
She's  only  good  for  her  looks,  in  the  animal  way, — 
that's  all !" 

"Hav'n't  told  where  ye  got  her,  yet,"  interrupts  the 
sprig  ;  "none  of  yer  crossin'  corners,  general." 

"  Well,  I  started  up  that  gal  of  Elder  Pemberton  Praise 
worthy.  She  takes  it  into  her  mind  to  get  crazed  now  and 
then,  and  Marston  had  to  sell  her ;  and  the  Elder  bought 
her  for  a  trifle,  cured  up  her  thinkin'-trap,  got  her  sound 
up  for  market,  and  I  makes  a  strike  with  the  Elder,  and 
gets  her  at  a  tall  bargain."  Mr.  O'Brodereque  has  lost 
none  of  his  dignity,  none  of  his  honour,  none  of  his  hopes 
of  getting  into  Congress  by  the  speculation. 

It  is  poor  Ellen  Juvarna ;  she  has  been  cured  for  the 
market.  She  might  have  said,  and  with  truth, — "  You  don't 
know  me  now,  so  wonderful  are  they  who  deal  with  my 
rights  in  this  our  world  of  liberty !" 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

A  NOT  UNCOMMON  SCENE    SLIGHTLY  CHANGED. 

KOMESCOS,  having  withdrawn  from  the  saloon  while  the 
excitement  raged  highest,  may  be  seen,  with  several  others, 
seated  at  a  table  in  the  upper  room.  They  are  in  earnest 
consultation, — evidently  devising  some  plan  for  carrying 
out  a  deep-laid  plot. 

"  I  have  just  called  my  friend,  who  will  give  us  the  par 
ticulars  about  the  constitutionality  of  the  thing.  Here  he  is. 
Mr.  Scranton,  ye  see,  knows  all  about  such  intricacies  ; 
he  is  an  editor !  formerly  from  the  North,"  one  of  the  party 
is  particular  to  explain,  as  he  directs  his  conversation  to 
Komeacos.  That  gentleman  of  slave-cloth  only  knows  the 
part  they  call  the  rascality  ;  he  pays  the  gentlemen  of  the 
learned  law  profession  to  shuffle  him  out  of  all  the  legal 
intricacies  that  hang  around  his  murderous  deeds.  He 
seems  revolving  the  thing  over  in  his  mind  at  the  moment, 
makes  no  reply.  The  gentleman  turns  to  Mr.  Scranton — 
the  same  methodical  gentleman  AVC  have  described  with  the 
good  Mrs.  Rosebrook — hopes  he  will  be  good  enough  to 
advise  on  the  point  in  question.  Mr.  Scranton  sits  in  all 
the  dignity  of  his  serious  philosophy,  quite  unmoved ;  his 
mind  is  nearly  distracted  about  all  that  is  constitutionally 
right  or  constitutionally  wrong.  He  is  bound  to  his  own  ways 
of  thinking,  and  would  suffer  martyrdom  before  his  own  con 
scientious  scruples  would  allow  him  to  acknowledge  a  right 
superior  to  that  constitution.  As  for  the  humanity  !  that 
has  nothing  to  do  with  the  constitution,  nothing  to  do  with 
the  laws  of  the  land,  nothing  to  do  with  popular  government, 
— nothing  to  do  with  anything,  and  never  should  be  taken 
into  consideration  when  the  point  at  issue  involved  negro 
property.  The  schedule  of  humanity  would  be  a  poor 
account  at  one's  banker's.  Mr.  Scranton  begins  to  smooth 
his  face,  which  seems  to  elongate  like  a  wet  moon.  "  The 
question  is,  as  I  understand  it,  gentlemen,  how  far  the  law 
will  give  you  a  right  to  convict  and  sell  the  woman  in  the 


A  NOT  UNCOMMON  SCENE    SLIGHTLY  CHANGED.  203 

absence  of  papers  and  against  the  assertions  of  her  owner, 
that  she  is  free  ?  Now,  gentlemen,  in  the  absence  of  my 
law  books,  and  without  the  least  scruple  that  I  am  legally 
right,  for  I'm  seldom  legally  wrong,  having  been  many 
}rears  secretary  to  a  senator  in  Congress  who  made  it  my 
particular  duty  to  keep  him  posted  on  all  points  of  the 
constitution— he  drawls  out  with  the  serious  complacency  of 
a  London  beggar — I  will  just  say  that,  whatever  is  legal 
must  be  just.  Laws  are  always  founded  in  justice — that's 
logical,  you  see, — and  I  always  maintained  it  long  'afore  I 
come  south,  long  'afore  I  knowed  a  thing  about  '  nigger 
law.'  The  point,  thus  far,  you  see,  gentlemen,  I've  settled. 
Now  then !"  Mr.  Scranton  rests  his  elbow  on  the  table, 
makes  many  legal  gesticulations  with  his  finger ;  he,  how 
ever,  disclaims  all  and  every  connection  with  the  legal  body, 
inasmuch  as  its  members  have  sunk  very  much  in  the  scale 
of  character,  and  will  require  a  deal  of  purifying  ere  he  can 
call  them  brothers ;  but  he  knows  a  thing  or  two  of  consti 
tutional  law,  and  thus  proceeds  :  "  'Tain't  a  whit  of  matter 
about  the  woman,  barring  the  dockerment's  all  right.  You 
only  want  to  prove  that  Marston  bought  her,  that's  all ! 
A.S  for  the  young  scraps,  why — supposing  they  are  his — 
that  won't  make  a  bit  of  difference ;  they  are  property  for 
all  that,  subject  to  legal  restraints.  Your  claim  will  be 
valid  against  it.  You  may  have  to  play  nicely  over  some 
intricate  legal  points.  But,  remember,  nigger  law  is  won 
derfully  elastic ;  it  requires  superhuman  wisdom  to  unravel 
its  social  and  political  intricacies,  and  when  I  view  it 
through  the  horoscope  of  an  indefinite  future  it  makes  my 
very  head  ache.  You  may,  however,  let  your  claim  revert 
to  another,  and  traverse  the  case  until  such  time 
as  you  can  procure  reliable  proof  to  convict."  Mr. 
Scrauton  asserts  this  as  the  force  of  his  legal  and  constitu 
tional  acumen.  He  addresses  himself  to  a  mercantile-look 
ing  gentleman  who  sits  at  the  opposite  side  of  the  table, 
attentively  listening.  He  is  one  of  several  of  Marston's 
creditors,  who  sit  at  the  table ;  they  have  attached  certain 
property,  and  having  some  doubts  of  overthrowing  Marston's 
plea  of  freedom,  which  he  has  intimated  his  intention  to 
enter,  have  called  in  the  valuable  aid  of  Homescos.  That 
indomitable  individual,  however,  has  more  interests  than  one 
to  serve,  and  is  playing  his  cards  with  great  "  diplomatic 
14 


204        A  JTOT  UNCOMMON  SCENE  SLIGHTLY  CHANGED. 

skill."  Indeed,  he  often  remarks  that  his  wonderful  diplo 
matic  skill  would  have  been  a  great  acquisition  to  the  federal 
government,  inasmuch  as  it  would  have  facilitated  all  its 
Southern  American  projects. 

The  point  in  question  at  present,  and  which  they  must 
get  over,  in  order  to  prove  the  property,  is  made  more 
difficult  by  the  doubt  in  which  the  origin  of  Clotilda 
has  always  been  involved.  Many  are  the  surmises  about 
her  parentage — many  are  the  assertions  that  she  is  not  of 
negro  extraction— she  has  no  one  feature  indicating  it — but 
no  one  can  positively  assert  where  she  came  from ;  in  a 
word,  no  one  dare !  Henee  is  constituted  the  ground  for 
fearing  the  issue  of  Marston's  notice  of  freedom. 

"  Well !  I'll  own  it  puzzles  my  cunnin' ;  there's  a  way 
to  get  round  it — there  is — but  deuced  if  'tain't  too  much 
for  my  noddle,"  Komescos  interposes,  taking  a  little  more 
whiskey,  and  seeming  quite  indifferent  about  the  whole 
affair.  "Suppose — Marston — comes — forward!  yes,  and 
brings  somebody  to  swear  as  a  kind  a'  sideways  ?  That'll 
be  a  poser  in  asserting  their  freedom ;  it'll  saddle  you 
creditors  with  the  burden  of  proof.  There'll  be  the  rub  ; 
and  ye  can't  plead  a  right  to  enjoin  the  schedule  he  files  in 
bankruptcy  unless  ye  show  how  they  were  purchased  by  him. 
Perchance  on  some  legal  uncertainty  it  might  be  done, — by 
your  producing  proof  that  he  had  made  an  admission, 
anterior  to  the  levy,  of  their  being  purchased  by  him," 
Romescos  continues,  very  wisely  appealing  to  his  learned 
and  constitutional  friend,  Mr.  Scranton,  who  yields  his 
assent  by  adding  that  the  remarks  are  very  legal,  and 
contain  truths  worth  considering,  inasmuch  as  they  involve 
great  principles  of  popular  government.  "  I  think  our 
worthy  friend  has  a  clear  idea  of  the  points,"  Mr.  Scranton 
concludes. 

"  One  word  more,  *  gentlemen :  a  bit  of  advice  what's 
worth  a  right  smart  price  to  ye  all— here  he  parenthesises  by 
saying  he  has  great  sympathy  for  creditors  in  distress — and 
ye  must  profit  by  it,  for  yer  own  interests.  As  the  case  now 
stands,  it's  a  game  for  lawyers  to  play  and  get  fat  at.  And, 
seein'  how  Marston's  feelins  are  up  in  a  sort  of  tender 
way,  he  feels  strong  about  savin'  them  young  'uns  ;  and  ye, 
nor  all  the  gentlemen  of  the  lower  place,  can't  make  'em 
property,  if  he  plays  his  game  right ; — he  knows  how  to ! 


A.  NOT  UNCOMMON  SCENE,  SLIGHTLY  CHANGED.        205 

ye'll  only  make  a  fuss  over  the  brutes,  while  the  lawyers 
bag  all  the  game-  worth  a  dollar.  Never  see'd  a  nigger  yet 
what  raised  a  legal  squall,  that  didn't  get  used  up  in  law 
leakins ;  lawyers  are  sainted  pocket  masters !  But — that 
kind  a'  stuff! — it  takes  a  mighty  deal  of  cross-cornered 
swearing  to  turn  it  into  property.  The  only  way  ye  can 
drive  the  peg  in  so  the  lawyers  won't  get  hold  on't,  is  by 
selliu'  out  to  old  Graspum — Norman,  I  mean — he  does  up 
such  business  as  fine  as  a  fiddle.  Make  the  best  strike  with 
him  ye  can — he's  as  tough  as  a  knot  on  nigger  trade  ! — and, 
if  there's  any  making  property  out  on  'em,  he's  just  the 
tinker  to  do  it." 

They  shake  their  heads  doubtingly,  as  if  questioning  the 
policy  of  the  advice.  Mr.  Scranton,  however,  to  whom  all 
looked  with  great  solicitation,  speaks  up,  and  affirms  the 
advice  to  be  the  wiser  course,  as  a  bird  in  the  hand  is  worth 
two  in  the  bush. 

"  Oh,  yes  !"  says  Eomescos,  significantly,  "  you'll  be  safe 
then,  and  free  from  responsibility ;  Graspum's  a  great 
fellow  to  buy  risks  ;  but,  seeing  how  he's  not  popular  with 
juries,  he  may  want  to  play  behind  the  scenes,  continue  to 
prosecute  the  case  in  the  name  of  the  creditors, — that's  all ! 
Curious  work,  this  making  property  out  of  doubtful  women. 
Sell  out  to  them  what  understands  the  curious  of  the  things, 
clear  yerselfs  of  the  perplexiu'  risks — ye  won't  bag  a  bit  of 
the  game,  you  won't.  Saddle  it  on  Norman ;  he  knows 
the  philosophy  of  nigger  trade,  and  can  swim  through  a  sea 
of  legal  perplexities  in  nigger  cases."  Mr.  Eomescos  never 
gave  more  serious  advice  in  his  life  ;  he  finishes  his  whiskey, 
adjusts  his  hat  slouchingly  on  his  head,  bids  them  good 
night ;  and,  in  return  for  their  thanks,  assures  them  that 
they  are  welcome.  He  withdraws ;  Mr.  Scranton,  after  a 
time,  gets  very  muddled ;  so  much  so,  that,  when  daylight 
appears,  he  finds,  to  his  utter  astonishment,  he  has  enjoyed 
a  sweet  sleep  on  the  floor,  some  of  his  quizzical  friends 
having  disfigured  his  face  very  much  after  the  fashion  of  a 
clown's.  He  modestly,  and  mechanically,  picks  up  his 
lethargic  body,  views  his  constitutional  self  in  the  glass,  and 
is  much  horrified,  much  disgusted  with  those  who  perpe 
trated  the  freak. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


THEY  AKE  ALL  GOING  TO  BE  SOLD. 

SLOWLY  we  pass  through  the  precious  scenes,  hoping  our 
readers  will  indulge  us  with  their  patience. 

Five  days  have  passed  since  Clotilda's  departure  ;  her 
absence  is  creating  alarm.  No  one  knows  anything  of  her  ! 
a  general  search  is  instituted,  but  the  searchers  search  in 
vain.  Maxwell  has  eluded  suspicion — Franconia  no  one  for 
a  moment  suspects.  Colonel  M'Carstrow — his  mind,  for  the 
time,  absorbed  in  the  charms  of  his  young  bride — gives 
little  attention  to  the  matter.  He  only  knows  that  he  has 
signed  a  bond  for  fifteen  hundred  dollars,  to  indemnify  the 
sheriff,  or  creditors,  in  the  event  of  loss  ;  he  reconciles  him 
self  with  the  belief  that  she  has  been  enticed  into  some  of 
the  neighbouring  bright  houses,  from  which  he  can  regain 
her  in  the  course  of  time.  M'Carstrow  knows  little  of 
Clotilda's  real  character ;  and  thus  the  matter  rests  a  time. 

The  sheriff, — important  gentleman  of  an  important  office, — 
will  give  himself  no  concern  about  the  matter :  the  plain 
tiffs  attorney  acknowledged  the  deed  of  release,  which  is 
quite  enough  for  him.  Graspum,  a  perfect  savan  where 
human  property  was  to  be  judged,  had  decided  that  her 
square  inches  of  human  vitality  were  worth  strong  fifteen 
hundred ;  that  was  all  desirable  for  the  sheriff — it  would  leave 
margin  enough  to  cover  the  cost.  But  M'Carstrow,  when 
given  the  bond,  knew  enough  of  nigger  law  to  demand  the 
insertion  of  a  clause  leaving  it  subject  to  the  question  of 
property,  which  is  to  be  decided  by  the  court.  A  high 
court  this,  where  freemen  sit  assembled  to  administer  curious 
justice.  What  constitutional  inconsistencies  hover  over  the 
monstrous  judicial  dignity  of  this  court, — this  court  having 
jurisdiction  over  the  monetary  value  of  beings  moulded  after 
God's  own  image !  It  forms  a  happy  jurisprudence  for 
those  who  view  it  for  their  selfish  ends ;  it  gains  freedom 
tyranny's  license,  gives  birth  to  strange  incongruities, 
clashing  between  the  right  of  property  in  man  and  all  the 


THEY  ABJ!  ALL  GOING  TO  BE  SOLD.        207 

viler  passions  of  our  nature.  It  holds  forth  a  jurisprudence 
that  turns  men  into  hounds  of  hell,  devouring  one  another, 
and  dragging  human  nature  down  into  the  very  filth  of 
earth. 

Marston's  troubles  keep  increasing.  All  the  preliminaries 
of  law  necessary  to  a  sale  of  the  undisputed  property  have 
been  gone  through  ;  the  day  of  its  disposal  has  arrived.  The 
children,  Annette  and  Nicholas,  have  remained  in  a  cell, 
suffering  under  its  malarious  atmosphere,  anxiously  awaiting 
their  fate.  Marston  has  had  them  taught  to  read, — con 
trary  to  a  generous  law  of  a  generous  land, — and  at  intervals 
they  sit  together  pondering  over  little  books  he  has  sent 
them. 

What  are  such  little  books  to  them  ?  the  unbending 
avarice  of  human  nature,  fostered  by  slavery's  power,  is 
grappling  at  their  existence.  There  is  no  sympathy  for 
them ;  it  is  crushed  out  by  the  law  which  makes  them 
chattels.  Oh,  no  !  sympathy,  generosity,  human  affections, 
have  little  to  do  with  the  transactions  o£  slave  dealing ;  that 
belongs  to  commerce, — commerce  has  an  unbending  rule  to 
maintain  while  money  is  to  be  made  by  a  legalised  traffic. 

We  must  invite  the  reader  to  accompany  us  to  the  county 
gaol,  on  the  morning  of  sale. 

The  "gang" — Marston's  slaves — have  been  ordered  to 
prepare  themselves  for  the  market ;  the  yard  resounds  with 
their  jargon.  Some  are  arranging  their  little  clothing, 
washing,  "brightening  up"  their  faces  to  make  the  property 
show  oif  in  the  market.  Others  are  preparing  homony  for 
breakfast ;  children,  in  ragged  garments,  are  toddling, 
running,  playing,  and  sporting  about  the  brick  pavement ; 
the  smallest  are  crouched  at  the  feet  of  their  mothers,  as  if 
sharing  the  gloom  or  nonchalance  of  their  feeling.  Men  are 
gathering  together  the  remnants  of  some  cherished  memento 
of  the  old  plantation  ;  they  had  many  a  happy  day  upon  it. 
Women  view  as  things  of  great  worth  the  little  trinkets 
with  which  good  master,  in  former  days,  rewarded  their 
energy.  They  recall  each  happy  association  of  the  cabin. 
Husbands,  or  such  as  should  be  husbands,  look  upon  their 
wives  with  solicitude ;  they  feel  it  is  to  be  the  last  day  they 
will  meet  together  on  earth.  They  may  meet  in  heaven ; 
there  is  no  slavery  there.  Mothers  look  upon  their  children 
only  to  feel  the  pangs  of  sorrow  more  keenly ;  they  know 


208  THEY  ABE  ALL  GOING  TO  BE  SOLD. 

and  feel  that  their  offspring  are  born  for  the  market,  not  for 
the  enjoyment  of  their  affections.  They  may  be  torn  from 
them,  and  sold  like  sheep  in  the  shambles.  Happy,  free 
country !  How  fair,  how  beautiful  the  picture  of  constitu 
tional  rights !  how  in  keeping  with  every- day  scenes  of 
southern  life ! 

"  I'ze  gwine  to  be  sold ;  you're  gwine  to  be  sold ;  we're  all 
gwine  to  be  sold.  Wonder  what  mas'r's  gwine  t'buy  dis 
child,"  says  Aunt  Eachel,  arranging  her  best  dress,  making 
her  face  "  shine  just  so."  Aunt  Eachel  endeavours  to  suit 
her  feelings  to  the  occasion,  trims  her  bandana  about  her 
head  with  exquisite  taste,  and  lets  the  bright- coloured  points 
hang  about  her  ears  in  great  profusion. 

"  Da'h  's  a  right  smart  heap  o'  dollar  in  dis  old  nigger,  yet ! 
— if  mas'r  what  gwine  t'buy  'em  know  how't  fotch  um  out ; 
Mas'r  must  do  da'h  clean  ting  wid  dis  child,"  Eachel  says, 
as  if  exulting  over  the  value  of  her  own  person.  She  brushes 
and  brushes,  views  and  reviews  herself  in  a  piece  of  mirror 
—  several  are  waiting  to  borrow  it — thinks  she  is  just  right 
for  market,  asks  herself  what's  the  use  of  fretting  ?  It's  a 
free  country,  with  boundless  hospitality — of  the  southern 
stamp, — and  why  not  submit  to  all  freedom's  dealings  ?  Aunt 
Eachel  is  something  of  a  philosopher. 

"  Aunte  !  da'  would'nt  gin  much  fo'hyer  old  pack  a'  bones 
if  mas'r  what  gwine  to  buy  ye  know'd  ye  like  I.  Ye' 
h'ant  da  property  what  bring  long  price  wid  Buckra,"  replies 
Dandy,  who  views  Aunt  Eachel  rather  suspiciously,  seems 
inclined  to  relieve  her  conceit,  and  has  takeu  very  good  care 
that  his  own  dimensions  are  trimmed  up  to  the  highest 
point. 

"  Dis  nigger  would'nt  swop  h'r  carcas  fo'h  yourn.  Dat 
she  don't,"  Eachel  retorts. 

"Eeckon  how  ye  wouldn't,  ah  !"  Dandy's  face  fills  with 
indignation.  "  Buckra  what  sting  ye  back  wid  tie  lash  '11 
buy  ye  old  bag  a'  bones  fo'h  down  south ;  and  when  'e  get  ye 
down  da'  he  make  ye  fo'h  a  corn  grinder."  Dandy  is  some 
what  inflated  with  his  rank  among  the  domestics  ;  he  is 
none  of  yer  common  niggers,  has  never  associated  with  black, 
field  niggers,  which  he  views  as  quite  too  common  for  his 
aristocratic  notions,  has  on  his  very  best  looks,  his  hair  combed 
with  extraordinary  care,  his  shirt  collar  dangerously  standing 
above  his  ears.  He  feels  something  better  than  nigger  blood 


THEY  ARE  ALL  GOING  TO  BE  SOLD.  209 

in  his  composition,  knows  the  ins  and  outs  of  nigger  i;h:i.;- 
losophy ;  he  knows  it  to  be  the  very  best  kind,  of  philosophy 
for  a  "  nigger"  to  put  on  a  good  appearance  at  the  eh:  ibies. 
A  dandy  nigger  is  not  plantation  stock, — hence  Le  has 
"  trimmed  up,"  and  hopes  to  find  a  purchaser  in  want  of  his 
specific  kind  of  property ;  it  will  save  him  from  that  field-life 
so  much  dreaded. 

The  property,  in  all  its  varied  shades,  comes  rolling  out 
from  all  manner  of  places  in  and  about  the  gaol,  filling  the 
.  yard.     It  is  a  momentous  occasion,  the  most  momentous  of 
their  life-time.      And  yet  many  seem  indifferent  about  its 
consequences.     They  speak  of  the  old  plantation,  jeer  each 
other  about  the  value  of  themselves,  offer  bets  on  the  price 
they  will  bring,  assert  a  superiority  over  each  other,  and 
boast  of  belonging  to  some  particular  grade  of  the  property. 
Harry — we  mean  Harry  the  preacher — is  busy  getting  his 
wife  and  children  ready  for  market.     He  evinces  great  affec 
tion  for  his  little  ones,  has  helped  his  wife  to  arrange  their 
apparel  with  so  much  care.      The  uninitiated  might  imagine 
them  going  to  church  instead  of  the  man  shambles.     Indeed, 
so   earnest  are  many    good  divines  in  the   promotion  of 
slavery,  that  it  would  not  be  unbecoming  to  form  a  connection 
between  the  southern  church  and  the  southern  man  shambles. 
The  material  aid  they  now  give  each  other  for  the  purpose 
of  keeping  up  the  man  trade  would  be  much  facilitated. 

However,  there  is  a  chance  of  Harry  being  sold  to  a 
brother  divine,  who,  by  way  of  serving  his  good  Lord  and 
righteous  master,  may  let  him  out  to  preach,  after  the  old 
way.  Harry  will  then  be  serving  his  brother  in  brotherly 
faith ;  that  is,  he  will  be  his  brother's  property,  very  pro 
fitable,  strong  in  the  faith  with  hia  dear  divine  brother,  to 
whom  he  will  pay  large  tribute  for  the  right  to  serve  the 
same  God. 

Harry's  emotions — he  has  been  struggling  to  suppress 
them — have  got  beyond  his  control ;  tears  will  now  and  then 
show  themselves  and  course  down  his  cheeks.  "  Never  mind, 
my  good  folks !  it  is  something  to  know  that  Jesus  still 
guards  us ;  still  watches  over  us."  He  speaks  encouragingly 
to  them.  "  The  scourge  of  earth  is  man's  wrongs,  the  death- 
spring  of  injustice.  We  are  made  bearers  of  the  burden ; 
but  that  very  burden  will  be  our  passport  into  a  brighter,  a 


210         THEY  ABE  ALL  GOING  TO  BE  SOLD. 

juster  world.  Let  us  meekly  bear  it.  Cheer  up  !  arm 
yourselves  witluthe  spirit  of  the  Lord;  it  will  give  you  for 
titude  to  live  out  the  long  journey  of  slave  life.  How  we 
shall  feel  when,  in  heaven,  we  are  brought  face  to  face  with 
master,  before  the  Lord  Judge.  Our  rights  and  his  wrongs 
will  then  weigh  in  the  balance  of  heavenly  justice."  "With 
these  remarks,  Harry  counsels  them  to  join  him  in  prayer. 
He  kneels  on  the  brick  pavement  of  the  yard,  clasps  his 
hands  together  as  they  gather  around  him  kneeling  devotedly. 
Fervently  he  offers  up  a  prayer, — he  invokes  the  God  of 
heaven  to  look  down  upon  them,  to  bestow  his  mercy  upon 
master,  to  incline  his  ways  in  the  paths  of  good ;  and  to 
protect  these,  his  unfortunate  children,  and  guide  them 
through  their  separate  wayfaring.  The  ardour,  grotesque- 
ness,  and  devotion  of  this  poor  forlorn  group,  are  painfully 
touching.  How  it  presents  the  portrait  of  an  oppressed 
race !  how  sunk  is  the  nature  that  has  thus  degraded  it ! 
Under  the  painful  burden  of  their  sorrow  they  yet  manifest 
the  purity  of  simple  goodness.  "  Oh !  Father  in  heaven, 
hast  thou  thus  ordained  it  to  be  so  ?"  breaks  forth  from 
Harry's  lips,  as  the  criminals,  moved  by  the  affecting  pic 
ture,  gather  upon  the  veranda,  and  stand  attentive  listeners. 
Their  attention  seems  rivetted  to  his  words ;  the  more 
vicious,  as  he  looks  through  grated  bars  upon  them,  whispers 
words  of  respect. 

Harry  has  scarcely  concluded  his  prayer  when  the  sheriff, 
accompanied  by  several  brokers  (slave-dealers),  comes  rushing 
through  the  transept  into  the  yard.  The  sheriff  is  not 
rude ;  he  approaches  Harry,  tells  him  he  is  a  good  boy,  has 
no  objection  to  his  praying,  and  hopes  a  good  master  will 
buy  him.  He  will  do  all  he  can  to  further  his  interests, 
having  heard  a  deal  about  his  talents.  He  says  this  with 
good-natured  measure,  and  proceeds  to  take  a  cursory  view 
of  the  felons.  "While  he  is  thus  proceeding,  the  gentlemen 
of  trade  who  accompanied  him  are  putting  "  the  property" 
through  a  series  of  examinations. 

"  Property  like  this  ye  don't  start  up  every  day,"  says 
one.  "  Best  I'ze  seen  come  from  that  ar'  district.  Give 
ye  plenty  corn,  down  there,  don't  they,  boys  ?"  enjoins 
another,  walking  among  them,  and  every  moment  bringing 
the  end  of  a  small  whip  which  he  holds  in  his  right  hand 


THEY  ABE  ALL  GOING  TO  BE  BOLD.         211 

about  their  legs.  This,  the  gentleman  remarks,  is  merely 
for  the  purpose— one  of  the  phrases  of  the  very  honourable 
trade— of  testing  their  nimbleness. 

"  Well !"  replies  a  tall,  lithe  dealer,  whose  figure  would 
seem  to  have  been  moulded  for  chasing  hogs  through  the 
swamp,  "  There's  some  good  bits  among  it ;  but  it  won't  stand 
prime,  as  a  lot !"  The  gentleman,  who  seems  to  have  a 
nicely  balanced  mind  for  judging  the  human  nature  value 
of  such  things,  is  not  quite  sure  that  they  have  been  bacon 
fed.  He  continues  his  learned  remarks.  "  Ye'h  han't  had 
full  tuck  out,  I  reckon,  boys  ?"  he  inquires  of  them,  deli 
berately  examining  the  mouths  and  nostrils  of  several. 
The  gentleman  is  very  cool  in  this  little  matter  of  trade  ;  it 
is  an  essential  element  of  southern  democracy ;  some  say, 
nothing  more ! 

"  Tes,  Boss  !"  replies  Enoch,  one  or*the  negroes  ;  "  Mas'r 
oilers  good  t'  e  niggers,  gin  him  bacon  free  times  a  week — 
sometimes  mo'  den  dat."  Several  voices  chime  in  to  affirm 
what  Enoch  says. 

"  Ah,  very  good.  "Few  planters  in  that  district  give  their 
negroes  bacon  ;  and  an  all  corn-fed  nigger  won't  last 
two  years  on  a  sugar  plantation,"  remarks  one  of  the 
gentlemen  dealers,  as  he  smokes  his  cigar  with  great  non 
chalance. 

"While  these  quaint  appendancies  of  the  trade  are  pro 
ceeding,  Romescos  and  G-raspum  make  their  appearance. 
They  have  come  to  forestall  opinion,  to  make  a  few  side- 
winded  remarks.  They  are  ready  to  enter  upon  the  dis 
gusting  business  of  examining  property  more  carefully, 
more  scrupulously,  more  in  private.  The  honourable  sherift 
again  joins  the  party.  He  orders  that  every  accommodation 
be  afforded  the  gentlemen  in  their  examinations  of  the  pro 
perty.  Men,  women,  and  children — sorrowing  property — 
are  made  to  stand  erect ;  to  gesticulate  their  arms  ;  to  expand 
their  chests,  to  jump  about  like  jackals,  and  to  perform 
sundry  antics  pleasing  to  the  gentlemen  lookers-on.  This 
is  all  very  free,  very  democratic,  very  gentlemanly  in  the 
way  of  trade, — very  necessary  to  test  the  ingredient  of  the 
valuable  square  inches  of  the  property.  "What  matters  all 
this  !  the  honourable  sheriff  holds  it  no  dishonour  ;  modest 
gentlemen  never  blush  at  it ;  the  coarse  dealer  makes  it 
hia  study, — he  trades  in  human  nature  ;  the  happy  democrat 


212'  THEY  ARE  ALL  GOING  TO  BE  BOLD. 

thinks  it  should  have  a  co-fellowship  with  southern  iiospi- 
tality — so  long  and  loudly  boasted. 

Those  little  necessary  displays  over,  the  honourable  sheriff 
invites  his  distinguished  friends  to  "  have  a  cigar  round  ;" 
having  satisfied  their  taste  in  gymnastarising  the  property. 
Homescos,  however,  thinks  he  has  not  quite  satisfied  his 
feelings;  he  is  very  dogged  on  nigger  flesh.  The  other 
gentlemen  may  smoke  their  cigars ;  Mr.  Romescos  thinks 
he  will  enjoy  the  exercise  of  his  skill  in  testing  the  tenacity 
of  negroes'  chests ;  which  he  does  by  administering  heavy 
blows,  which  make  them  groan  out  now  and  then.  Groans, 
however,  don't  amount  to  much  ;  they  are  only  nigger  groans. 
Again  Mr.  Bomescos  applies  the  full  force  of  his  hands  upon 
their  ears ;  then  he  will  just  pull  them  systematically. 
"Nice  property!"  he  says,  telling  the  forbearing  creatures 
not  to  mind  the  pain.* 

Messrs.  Graspum  and  Romescos  will  make  a  closjo  in 
spection  of  a  few  pieces.  Here,  several  men  and  women  are 
led  into  a  basement  cell,  under  the  veranda,  and  stript  most 
rudely.  No  discrimination  is  permitted.  Happy  freedom  ! 
What  a  boon  is  liberty !  Mr.  Romescos  views  their  nice 
firm  bodies,  and  their  ebony  black  skins,  with  great  skill  and 
precaution ;  his  object  is  to  prove  the  disposition  of  the 
articles, — strong  evidence  being  absence  of  scars.  He  lays 
his  bony  fingers  on  their  left  shoulders — they  being  com 
pelled  to  stand  in  a  recumbent  position — tracing  their  bodies 
to  the  hips  and  thighs.  Here  the  process  ends.  Mr. 
Romescos  has  satisfied  his  very  nice  judgment  on  the  solidity 
of  the  human-flesh-property — he  has  put  their  bodies  through 
other  disgusting  inspections — they  belong  to  the  trade — 
which  cannot  be  told  here  ;  but  he  finds  clean  skins,  very 
smooth,  without  scars  or  cuts,  or  dangerous  diseases.  He 
laughs  exultingly,  orders  the  people  to  stow  themselves  in 
their  clothes  again,  and  relights  his  cigar.  "  If  it  'ant  a 
tall  lot !"  he  whispers  to  Graspum,  and  gives  him  a  signi 
ficant  touch  with  his  elbow.  "  Bright — smooth  as  a  leather 
ninepence ;  han't  had  a  lash — Marston  was  a  fool,  or  his 
niggers  are  angels,  rather  black,  though — couldn't  start  up 
a  scar  on  their  flesh.  A  little  trimmin'  down — it  wants  it, 
you  see ! — to  make  it  show  otF;  must  have  it — eh  !  Graspum, 
old  feller  ?  It  only  wants  a  little,  though,  and  them  dandy 
niggers,  and  that  slap-up  preacher,  will  bring  a  smart  price 


THEY  ARE  ALL  GOING  TO  BE  SOLD.  213 

fixed  up.  Great  institution  !  The  preacher  's  got  knowin' ; 
can  discourse  like  a  college-made  deacon,  and  can  convert  a 
whole  plantation  with  his  nigger  eloquence.  A  nigger 
preacher  with  Bible  knowin,  when  it's  smart,  is  right  valuable 
when  ye  want  to  keep  the  pious  of  a  plantation  straight. 
And  then !  when  the  preacher  'ant  got  a  notion  a'  runnin 
away  in  him."  Eornescos  crooks  his  finger  upon  Graspum's 
arm,  whispers  cautiously  in  his  ear. 

"  There  '11  be  a  sharp  bidding  for  some  of  it ;  they  '11  run 
up  some  on  the  preacher.  He  '11  be  a  capital  investment, — 
pay  more  than  thirty  per  cent,  insinuates  another  gentleman 
— a  small  inquisitive  looking  dealer  in  articles  of  the  nigger 
line.  When  a  planter  's  got  a  big  gang  a'  niggers,  and  is 
•just  fool  enough  to  keep  such  a  thing  for  the  special  purpose 
of  making  pious  valuable  in  'um,"  Mr.  Romescos  rejoins, 
shrugging  his  shoulders,  rubbing  his  little  hawk's  eyes,  and 
looking  seriously  indifferent.  Romescos  gives  wonderful 
evidence  of  his  "  first  best  cunning  propensities  ;"  and  here 
he  fancies  he  has  pronounced  an  opinion  that  will  be  taken 
as  profound.  He  affects  heedlessness  of  everything,  is  quite 
disinterested,  and,  thrusting  his  hands  deep  into  his  pockets, 
assumes  an  air  of  dignity  that  would  not  unbecome  my  Lord 
Chief  Justice. 

"  Let  us  see  them  two  bits  of  disputed  property, — where 
are  they  ?"  inquires  Graspum,  turning  half  round,  and 
addressing  himself  to  the  gaoler. 

"In  the  close  cells,"  is  the  quick  reply, — "through  the 
narrow  vault,  up  the  stone  passage,  and  on  the  right,  in  the 
arched  cell." 

The  gaoler — good,  honest-hearted  man — leads  the  way, 
through  a  chilly  vault,  up  the  narrow  passage,  to  the  left 
wing  of  the  building.  The  air  is  pestiferous  ;  warm  and 
diseased,  it  fans  us  as  we  approach.  The  gaoler  puts  his  face 
to  the  grating,  and  in  a  guttural  voice,  says,  "  You're  wanted, 
young  uns."  They  understand  the  summons  ;  they  come 
forward  as  if  released  from  torture  to  enjoy  the  pure  air  of 
heaven.  Confinement,  dreary  and  damp,  has  worn  deep  into 
their  systems. 

Annette  speaks  feebly,  looks  pale  and  sickly.  Her  flaxen 
curls  still  dangle  prettily  upon  her  shoulders.  She  expected 
her  mother ;  that  mother  has  not  come.  The  picture  seems 
strange ;  she  looks  childishly  and  vacantly  round, — at  the 


214  THEY  AEE  ALL  GOING  TO  BE  SOLD. 

dealers,  at  Graspum,  at  the  sheriff,  at  the  familiar  faces  of 
the  old  plantation  people.  She  recognizes  Harry,  and  would 
fain  leap  into  his  arms.  Nicholas,  less  moved  by  what  is 
going  on  around  him,  hangs  reluctantly  behind,  holding  by 
the  skirt  of  Annette's  frock.  He  has  lost  that  vivacity  and 
pertness  so  characteristic  on  the  plantation.  Happy  picture 
of  freedom's  love !  Happy  picture  of  immortalised  injustice ! 
Happy  picture  of  everything  that  is  unhappy  !  How  modest 
is  the  boast  that  we  live  to  be  free ;  and  that  in  our  virtuous 
freedom  a  child's  mother  has  been  sold  for  losing  her  mind : 
a  faithful  divine,  strong  with  love  for  his  fellow  divines,  is  to 
be  sold  for  his  faith ;  the  child — the  daughter  of  the  demo 
crat — they  say,  will  be  sold  from  her  democratic  father. 
The  death-stinging  enemy  "Washington  and  Jefferson  sought 
to  slaughter — to  lay  ever  dead  at  their  feet,  has  risen  to  life 
again.  Annette's  mother  has  fled  to  escape  its  poison.  We 
must  pause !  we  must  not  discourse  thus  in  our  day,  when 
the  sordid  web  of  trade  is  being  drawn  over  the  land  by 
King  Cotton. 

The  children,  like  all  such  doubtful  stock,  are  considered 
very  fancy,  very  choice  of  their  kind.  It  must  be  dressed  in 
style  to  suit  nice  eyes  at  the  shambles. 

"  Well !  ye'r  right  interesting  looking,"  says  the  sheriff — 
Messrs.  Graspum  and  Co.  look  upon  them  with  great  con 
cern,  now  and  then  interrupting  with  some  observations 
upon  their  pedigree, — taking  them  by  the  arms,  and  again 
rumpling  their  hair  by  rubbing  his  hands  over  their  heads. 
"  Fix  it  up,  trim  ;  we  must  put  them  up  along  with  the  rest 
to-day.  "  It  '11  make  Marston — I  pity  the  poor  fellow — 
show  his  hand  on  the  question  of  their  freedom.  Mr. 
sheriff,  being  sufficiently  secured  against  harm,  is  quite  in 
different  about  the  latent  phases  of  the  suit.  He  remarks, 
with  great  legal  logic — we  mean  legal  slave  logic — that 
Marston  must  object  to  the  sale  when  the  children  are  on 
the  stand.  "  It  is  very  pretty  kind  a'  property,  very  like 
Marston — will  be  as  handsome  as  pictures  when  they  grow 
up,"  he  says,  ordering  it  put  back  to  be  got  ready. 

"  Why  didn't  my  mother  come  ?"  the  child  whimpers, 
dewy  tears  decorating  her  eyes.  Why  won't  she  come  back 
and  take  me  to  the  plantation  again  ?  I  want  her  to  come 
back ;  I've  waited  so  long."  As  she  turns  to  follow  the 
gaoler — Nicholas  still  holds  her  by  the  skirt  of  her  frock— 


THEY  ABE  ALL  GOING  TO  BE  SOLD.  215 

her  flaxen  curls  again  wave  to  and  fro  upon  her  shoulders, 
adding  beauty  to  her  childlike  simplicity.  "  You'll  grow  to 
be  something,  one  of  these  days,  won't  ye,  little  dear  ?" 
says  the  gaoler,  taking  her  by  the  hand.  She  replies  in 
those  silent  and  touching  arguments  of  the  soul ;  she  raises 
her  soft  blue  eyes,  and  heaven  fills  them  with  tears,  which 
she  lifts  her  tiny  hands  to  wipe  away. 

Nicholas  tremblingly — he  cannot  understand  the  strange 
movement — follows  them  through  the  vault ;  he  looks  up 
submissively,  and  with  instinctive  sympathy  commences  a 
loud  blubbering.  "  You're  going  to  be  sold,  little  uns ! 
but,  don't  roar  about  it ;  there's  no  use  in  that,"  says  the 
gaoler,  inclining  to  sympathy. 

Nicholas  does'nt  comprehend  it ;  he  looks  up  to  Annette, 
plaintively,  and,  forgetting  his  own  tears,  says,  in  a  whisper, 
"  Don't  cry,  Annette ;  they  '11  let  us  go  and  see  mother,  and 
mother  will  be  so  kind  to  us ." 

"  It  does  seem  a  pifcy  to  sell  ye,  young  'uns ;  ye'r  such 
nice  'uns, — have  so  much  intcrestin'  in  yer  little  skins !" 
interrupts  the  gaoler,  suddenly.  The  man  of  keys  could 
unfold  a  strange  history  of  misery,  suffering,  and  death,  if 
fear  of  popular  opinion,  illustrated  in  popular  liberty,  did 
not  seal  his  lips.  He  admits  the  present  to  be*  rather  an 
uncommon  case,  says  it  makes  a  body  feel  kind  a'  unhinged 
about  the  heart,  which  heart,  however  rocky  at  times,  will 
have  its  own  way  when  little  children  are  sorrowing.  "  And 
then,  to  know  their  parents !  that's  what  tells  deeper  ou  ;i 
body's  feeling, — it  makes  a  body  look  into  the  hereafter." 
The  man  of  keys  and  shackles  would  be  a  father,  if  the  law- 
did  but  let  him.  There  is  a  monster  power  over  him,  a 
power  he  dreads — it  is  the  power  of  unbending  democracy, 
moved  alone  by  fretful  painstakers  of  their  own  freedom. 
"Poor  little  things!  ye  'r  most  white,  yes! — suddenly 
changing — just  as  white  as  white  need  be.  Property's  pro 
perty,  though,  all  over  the  world.  "What's  sanctioned  by  the 
constitution,  and  protected  by  the  spirit  and  wisdom  of 
Congress,  must  be  right,  and  maintained,"  the  gaoler  con 
cludes.  His  heart  is  at  war  with  his  head;  but  the  head 
has  the  power,  and  he  must  protect  the  rights  of  an  un 
righteous  system.  They  have  arrived  at  a  flight  of  steps,  up 

*  ^We  are  narrating  a  scene  related  to  us  by  the  very  gaoler  we  here 
describe,  and  as  nearly  as  possible  in  his  own  language. 


216  THEY  ARE  ALL  GOING  TO  BH  SOLD. 

which  they  ascend,  and  are  sotfn  lost  in  its  windings.     They 
are  going  to  be  dressed  for  the  market. 

The  sheriff  is  in  the  yard,  awaiting  the  preparation  of  the 
•  property.  Even  he — iron-hearted,  they  say — gives  them  a 
look  of  generous  solicitude,  as  they  pass  out.  He  really 
feels  there  is  a  point,  no  less  in  the  scale  of  slave  dealing, 
beyond  which  there  is  something  so  repugnant  that  hell  itself 
might  frown  upon  it.  "  It's  a  phase  too  hard,  touches  a 
body's  conscience,"  he  says,  not  observing  Romescos  at  his 
elbow. 

"Conscience!"  interrupts  Romescos,  his  eyes  flashing 
like  meteors  of  red  fire,  "  the  article  don't  belong  to  the 
philosophy  of  our  business.  Establish  conscience — let  us, 
gentlemen,  give  way  to  our  feelins,  and  trade  in  nigger  pro 
perty  'd  be  deader  than  Chatham's  statue,  what  was  pulled 
through  our  streets  by  the  neck."  The  great  obstacle, 
however,  is  only  this — it  is  profitable  in  its  way  !  Romescos 
cautiously  attempts  to  shield  this,  but  it  will  not  do. 

The  gaoler,  protruding  his  head  from  a  second-story  win 
dow,  like  a  mop  in  a  rain  storm,  enquires  if  it  is  requisite  to 
dress  the  children  in  their  very  best  shine.  It  is  evident  he 
merely  views  them  as  two  bales  of  merchandise. 

The  sheriff,  angrily,  says,  "  Yes  !  I  told  you  that  already. 
Make  them  look  as  bright  as  two  new  pins."  His  honour 
has  been  contemplating  how  they  will  be  mere  pins  in  the 
market, — pins  to  bolt  the  doors  of  justice,  pins  to  play  men 
into  Congress,  pins  to  play  men  out  of  Congress,  pins  to 
play  a  President  into  the  White  House. 

An  old  negress,  one  of  the  plantation  nurses,  is  called 
into  service.  She  commences  the  process  of  preparing  them 
for  market.  They  are  nicely  washed,  dressed  in  clean 
clothes;  they  shine  out  as  bright  and  white  as  anybody's 
children.  Their  heads  look  so  sleek,  their  hair  is  so  nicely 
combed,  so  nicely  parted,  so  nicely  curled.  The  old  slave 
loves  them, — she  loved  their  father.  Her  skill  has  been 
lavished  upon  them, — they  look  as  choice  and  interesting  a? 
the  human  property  of  any  democratic  gentleman  can  be 
expected  to  do.  Let  us  be  patriotic,  let  us  be  law-loving, 
patient  law-abiding  citizens,  loving  that  law  of  our  free 
country  which  puts  them  under  the  man-vender's  hammer, — 
say  our  peace-abiding  neighbours.  * 

The  gaoler  lias  not  been  long  in  getting  Annette  and 


THEY  ABE  ALL  QOISGt  fb  BE  SOLD.  217 

Nicholas  ready.  He  brings  them  forward,  so  neatly  and 
prettily  dressed :  he  places  them  among  the  "  gang."  But 
they  are  disputed  property :  hence  all  that  ingenuity  which 
the  system  engenders  for  the  advancement  of  dealers  is 
brought  into  use  to  defeat  the  attempt  to  assert  their  free 
dom.  Homescos  declares  it  no  difficult  matter  to  do  this : 
he  has  the  deadly  weapon  in  his  possession ;  he  can  work 
(shuffle)  the  debt  into  Qraspurn's  hands,  and  he  can  supply 
the  proof  to  convict.  By  this  very  desirable  arrangement 
the  thing  may  be  made  nicely  profitable. 

No  sooner  has  Aunt  Rachel  seen  the  children  in  their 
neat  and  familiar  attire,  than  her  feelings  bound  with  joy, — 
she  cannot  longer  restrain  them.  She  has  watched  Marston'? 
moral  delinquencies  with  suspicion ;  but  she  loves  tho 
children  none  the  less.  And  with  honest  negro  nature  she 
runs  to  them,  clasps  them  to  her  bosom,  fondles  them,  and 
kisses  them  like  a  fond  mother.  The  happy  associations  of 
the  past,  contrasted  with  their  present  unhappy  condition, 
unbind  the  fountain  of  her  solicitude, — she  pours  it  upon 
them,  warm  and  fervent.  "  Grwiue  t'  sell  ye,  too  !  Mas'r, 
poor  old  Mas'r,  would'nt  sell  ye,  no  how !  that  he  don't. 
But  poor  old  Boss  hab  'e  trouble  now,  G-od  bless  'em," 
she  says,  again  pressing  Annette  to  her  bosom,  nearer  and 
nearer,  with  fondest,  simplest,  holiest  aifection.  Looking 
intently  in  the  child's  face,  she  laughs  with  the  bounding 
joy  of  her  soul ;  then  she  smooths  its  hair  with  her  brawny 
black  hands  :  they  contrast  strangely  with  the  pure  carnatic 
of  the  child's  cheek. 

"  Lor !  good  Lor,  Mas'r  Buckra,"  aunt  Eachel  exclaims, 
"  if  eber  de  Lor'  smote  'e  vengence  on  yeh,  't  '11  be  fo' 
sellin'  de  likes  o'  dese.  Old  Mas'r  tinks  much  on  'em,  fo' 
true.  G-wine  t'  sell  dem  what  Mas'r  be  so  fond  on  ?  Hard 
tellin'  what  Buckra  don't  sell  win  i'  makes  money  on  him. 
Neber  mind,  children ;  de  Lor'  aint  so  unsartin  as  white 
man.  He, — da'h  good  Mas'r  yonder  in  the  clouds, — save 
ye  yet ;  he'll  make  white  man  gin  ye  back  when  de  day  o' 
judgment  come."  Aunt  Eachel  has  an  instinctive  know 
ledge  of  the  errors,  accidents,  and  delays  which  have  brought 
about  this  sad  event, — she  becomes  absorbed  in  their  cares, 
'as  she  loses  sight  of  her  own  trouble. 

All  ready  for  thv  market,  they  are  chained  together  in 


THEY  ABE  ILL  GOINU  TO  BE  SOLD. 

pairs,  men  and  women,  as  if  the  wrongs  they  bore  had  made 
them  untrustworthy. 

Romescos,  ever  employed  in  his  favourite  trade,  is  busily 
engaged  chaining  up — assorting  the  pairs !  One  by  one 
they  quietly  submit  to  the  proceeding,  until  he  reaches 
Harry.  That  minister-of-the-gospel  piece  of  property 
thinks, — that  is,  is  foolish  enough  to  think, — his  nigger 
religion  a  sufficient  guarantee  against  any  inert  propensity 
to  run  away.  "  Now,  good  master,  save  my  hands  from 
irons,  and  my  heart  from  pain.  Trust  me,  let  me  go  un 
bound;  my  old  Master  trust  me  wid  'is  life " 

"Halloo!"  says  Romescos,  quickly  interrupting,  and  be 
ginning  to  bristle  with  rage ;  "  preach  about  old  Master 
here  you'll  get  the  tinglers,  T  reckon.  Put  'em  on — not  a 
grunt — or  you  11  get  thirty  more — yes,  a  collar  on  yer  neck." 
Holding  a  heavy  stick  over  the  poor  victim's  head,  for  several 
minutes  with  one  hand,  he  rubs  the  other,  clenched,  several 
times  across  his  nose.  Grraspum  interposes  by  reminding 
the  minister  that  it  is  for  his  interest  to  be  very  careful  how 
he  makes  any  reply  to  white  gentlemen. 

"  Why,  massa,  I'ze  the  minister  on  de  plantation.  My 
old  master  wouldn't  sell — wouldn't  do  so  wid  me.  Master 
knows  I  love  Q-od,  am  honest  and  peaceable.  "Why  chain 
the  honest  ?  why  chain  the  peaceable  ?  why  chain  the  inno 
cent  ?  They  need  no  fetters,  no  poisoning  shackles.  The 
guilty  only  fear  the  hand  of  retribution,"  says  Harry,  a  curl 
of  contempt  on  his  lip.  He  takes  a  step  backwards  as 
Romescos  holds  the  heavy  irons  before  him. 

"  You  don't  come  nigger  preacher  over  this  ar'  child ; 
't'ant  what's  crack'd  up  to  be.  I  larns  niggers  to  preach 
different  tunes.  Don't  spoil  prime  stock  for  such  non 
sense — " 

"  Master  Sheriff  will  stand  answerable  for  me,"  interrupts 
Harry,  turning  to  that  honourable  functionary,  and  claim 
ing  his  protection.  That  gentleman  says  it  is  rather  out  of 
his  line  to  interfere. 

"  Not  a  preacher  trick,  I  say  again — Romescos  evinces 
signs  of  increasing  temper- — ya'  black  theologin.  Preachers 
can't  put  on  such  dignity  when  they'r  property."  Preachers 
of  colour  must  be  doubly  humbled :  they  must  be  humble 
before  God,  humbled  before  King  Cotton,  humbled  before 


THEY  ARK  ALL  GOING  TO  BE  SOLD.  219 

the  king  dealer,  who  will  sell  them  for  their  dollars'  worth. 
Harry  must  do  the  bidding  of  his  king  master ;  his  monkey 
tricks  won't  shine  with  such  a  philosopher  as  Romescos. 
The  man  of  bones,  blood,  and  flesh,  can  tell  him  to  sell  a 
nigger  preacher  to  his  brother  of  the  ministry,  and  make  it 
very  profitable.  He  assures  Harry,  while  holding  the 
shackles  in  his  hands,  that  he  may  put  on  just  as  much  of 
the  preacher  as  he  can  get,  when  he  gets  to  the  shambles, 
and  hears  the  fives  and  tens  bidding  on  his  black  hide. 

Harry  must  submit ;  he  does  it  with  pain  and  reluctance. 
He  is  chained  to  his  wife— a  favour  suggested  by  the  sheriff— 
with  whom  he  can  walk  the  streets  of  a  free  country, — but 
they  must  be  bound  in  freedom's  iron  fellowship.  The  iron 
shackle  clasps  his  wrist ;  the  lock  ticks  as  Romescos  turns 
the  key  :  it  vibrates  to  his  very  heart.  "With  a'sigh  he  says, 
"  Ours  is  a  life  of  sorrow,  streaming  its  dark  way  along  a 
dangerous  path.  It  will  ebb  into  the  bright  and  beautiful 
of  heaven  ;  that  heaven  wherein  we  put  our  trust — where 
our  hopes  are  strengthened.  O !  come  the  day  when  we 
shall  be  borne  to  the  realms  of  joy — joy  celestial !  There 
no  unholy  shade  of  birth — unholy  only  to  man — shall  doom, 
us ;  the  colour  of  our  skin  will  not  there  be  our  misfor 
tune—" 

"What!"  quickly  interrupts  Romescos,  "what's  that?" 
The  property  minister,  thus  circumstanced,  must  not  show 
belligerent  feelings.  Romescos  simply,  but  very  skilfully, 
draws  his  club ;  measures  him  an  uuamiable  blow  on  the 
head,  fells  him  to  the  ground.  The  poor  wretch  struggles 
a  few  moments,  raises  his  manacled  hands  to  his  face  as  his 
wife  falls  weeping  upon  his  shuddering  body.  She  suppli 
cates  mercy  at  the  hands  of  the  ruffian — the  ruffian  torturer. 
"  Quietly,  mas'r ;  my  man  'ill  go  wid  me,"  says  the  woman, 
interposing  her  hand  to  prevent  a  second  blow. 

Harry  opens  his  eyes  imploringly,  casts  a  look  of  pity 
upon  the  man  standing  over  him.  Romescos  is  in  the  atti 
tude  of  dealing  him  another  blow.  The  wretch  stays  his 
hand.  "  Do  with  me  as  you  please,  master ;  you  are  over 
me.  My  hope  will  be  my  protector  when  your  pleasure  will 
have  its  reward." 

A  second  thought  has  struck  Romescos  ;  the  nigger  isn't 
so  bad,  after  all.     "  "Well,  reckon  how  nobody  won't  have 
no  objection  to  ya'r  thinking  just  as  ya'v  mind  to ;  but  ya* 
15 


220         THEY  ARE  ALL  OOTKG  TO  BE  SOLD. 

can't  talk  ya'r  own  way,  nor  ya'  can't  have  ya'r  own  way 
with  this  child.  A  nigger  what  puts  on  parson  airs — if  it  13 
a  progressive  age  nigger— musn't  put  on  fast  notions  to  a 
white  gentleman  of  my  standing!  If  he  does,  we  just  take 
'em  out  on  him  by  the  process  of  a  small  quantity  of  first- 
rate  knockin  down,"  says  Eomescos,  amiably  lending  him  a 
hand  to  get  up.  Graspum  and  the  honourable  sheriff  are 
measuredly  pacing  up  and  down  the  yard,  talking  over 
affairs  of  state,  and  the  singular  purity  of  their  own  southern 
democracy — that  democracy  which  will  surely  elect  the  next 
President.  Stepping  aside  in  one  of  his  sallies,  Graspum, 
in  a  half  whisper,  reminds  Eomescos  that,  now  the  nigger 
has  shown  symptoms  of  disobedience,  he  had  better  prove 
the  safety  of  the  shackles.  "  Eight !  right !  all  right !"  the 
man  of  chains  responds ;  he  had  forgot  this  very  necessary 
piece  of  amusement.  He  places  both  hands  upon  the 
shackles ;  grasps  them  firmly ;  places  his  left  foot  against 
Harry's  stomach ;  and  then,  uttering  a  fierce  imprecation, 
makes  his  victim  pull  with  might  and  main  while  he  braces 
against  him  with  full  power.  The  victim,  groaning  under 
the  pain,  begs  for  mercy.  Mercy  was  not  made  for  him. 
Freedom  and  mercy,  in  this  our  land  of  greatness,  have 
been  betrayed. 

Harry,  made  willing  property,  is  now  placed  by  the  side 
of  his  wife,  as  four  small  children — the  youngest  not  more 
than  two  years  old — cling  at  the  skirts  of  her  gown.  The 
children  are  scarcely  old  enough  to  chain ;  their  strong 
affections  for  poor  chained  mother  and  father  are  quite  enough 
to  guarantee  against  their  running  away.  Eomescos,  in  his 
ample  kindness,  will  allow  them  to  toddle  their  way  to 
market.  They  are  not  dangerous  property ; — they  have 
their  feelings,  and  will  go  to  market  to  be  sold,  without 
running  away. 

The  gang  is  ready.  The  gaoler,  nearly  out  of  breath, 
congratulates  himself*  upon  the  manner  of  dispatching  busi 
ness  at  his  establishment.  Eomescos  will  put  them  through 
a  few  evolutions  before  marching  in  the  street ;  so,  placing 
himself  at  their  right,  and  the  gaoler  at  their  left  flank,  they 
are  made  to  march  and  counter-march  several  times  round 
the  yard.  This  done,  the  generous  gaoler  invites  the  gentle 
men  into  his  office :  he  haa  a  good  glass  of  whiskey  waiting 
their  superior  tastes. 


THEY  ARE  ALL  GOING  TO  BE  SOLD.  221 

The  ward  gates  are  opened ;  the  great  gate  is  withdrawn ; 
the  property,  linked  in  iron  fellowship, — the  gentlemen 
having  taken  their  whiskey, — are  all  ready  for  the  word, 
inarch  !  This  significant  admonition  the  sheriff  gives,  and 
the  property  sets  off  in  solemn  procession,  like  wanderers 
bound  on  a  pilgrimage.  Tramp,  tramp,  tramp,  their  foot 
steps  fall  in  dull  tones  as  they  sally  forth,  in  broken  file, 
through  the  long  aisles  Romescos  is  in  high  glee, — his  feel 
ings  bound  with  exultation,  he  marches  along,  twirling  a 
stick  over  his  head.  They  are  soon  in  the  street,  where  he 
invites  them  to  strike  up  a  lively  song — "  Jim  crack  corn,  and 
I  don't  care,  fo'h  Mas'r's  gone  away  !"  he  shouts  ;  and  several 
strike  up,  the  rest  joining  in  the  old  plantation  chorus — 
"  Away  !  away  !  away  !  Mas'r's  gone  away."  Thus,  with  jin 
gling  chorus  and  seemingly  joyous  hearts,  they  march  down 
to  the  man-market.  The  two  children,  Annette  and  Nicholas, 
trail  behind,  in  charge  of  the  sheriff,  whose  better  feelings 
seem  to  be  troubling  him  very  much.  Every  now  and  then, 
as  they  walk  by  his  side,  he  casts  a  serious  look  at  Annette, 
as  if  conscience,  speaking  in  deep  pulsations,  said  it  wasn't 
just  right  to  sell  such  an  interesting  little  creature.  On 
ward  they  marched,  his  head  and  heart  warring  the  while. 
"  There's  something  about  it  that  does'nt  seem  to  come  just 
right  in  a  fellow's  feelins,"  keeps  working  itself  in  his  mind, 
until  at  length  he  mutters  the  words.  It  is  the  natural  will 
to  do  good,  struggling  against  the  privileges  which  a  govern 
ment  fives  ungovernable  men  to  do  wrong. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

LET  US  FOLLOW  POOR  HUMAN  NATURE  TO  THE  MAN 
SHAMBLES. 

GENTLEMEN  dealers  in  want  of  human  property, — planters 
in  want  of  a  few  prime  people, — brokers  who  have  largo 
transactions  in  such  articles, — and  factors  who,  being  rather 
sensitive  of  their  dignity,  give  to  others  the  negotiation  of 
their  business, — are  assembled  in  and  around  the  mart,  a  co 
vered  shed,  somewhat  resembling  those  used  by  railroad 
companies  for  the  storing  of  coarse  merchandise.  Marston's 
negroes  are  to  be  sold.  Suspicious  circumstances  are  con 
nected  with  his  sudden  decline :  rumour  has  sounded  her  seven- 
tongued  symbols  upon  it,  and  loud  are  the  speculations. 
The  cholera  has  made  mighty  ravages  ;  but  the  cholera  could 
not  have  done  all.  Q-raspum  has  grasped  the  plantation, 
quietly  and  adroitly,  but  he  has  not  raised  the  veil  of  mys 
tery  that  hangs  over  the  process.  There  must  be  long 
explanations  before  the  obdurate  creditors  are  satisfied. 

The  irons  have  been  removed  from  the  property,  who  are 
crouched  round  the  stand— an  elevated  platform--in  a  for 
lorn  group,  where  sundry  customers  can  scrutinize  their 
proportions.  Being  little  or  no  fancy  among  it,  the  fast 
young  gentlemen  of  the  town,  finding  nothing  worthy  their 
attention  and  taste,  make  a  few  cursory  observations,  and 
slowly  swagger  out  of  the  ring.  The  children  are  wonder 
fully  attractive  and  promising  ;  they  are  generally  admired 
by  the  customers,  who  view  them  with  suspicious  glances. 
Annette's  clean  white  skin  and  fine  features  are  remarkably 
promising, — much  valued  as  articles  of  merchandise, — and 
will,  in  time,  pay  good  interest.  Her  youth,  however,  saves 
her  from  present  sacrifice, — it  thwarts  that  spirited  compe 
tition  which  older  property  of  the  same  quality  produces  when 
about  to  be  knocked  down  under  the  hammer  of  freedom. 

It  is  a  great  day,  a  day  of  tribulation,  with  the  once  happy 
people  of  Marston's  plantation.  No  prayer  is  offered  up  for 
them,  their  souls  being  only  embodied  in  their  market  value. 


HUMAN  KATtJBE  AT  THE  MAN  SHAMBLES.  223 

Prayers  are  not  known  at  the  man  shambles,  though  the 
hammer  of  the  vender  seals  with  death  the  lives  of  many. 
No  gentleman  in  modest  black  cares  aught  for  such  death. 
The  dealer  will  not  pay  the  service  fee  !  Q-ood  master  is  no 
longer  their  protector;  his  familiar  face,  so  buoyant  with  joy 
and  affection,  has  passed  from  them.  No  more  will  that 
strong  attachment  manifest  itself  in  their  greetings.  Fathers 
will  be  fathers  no  longer — it  is  unlawful.  Mothers  cannot 
longer  clasp  their  children  in  their  arms  with  warm  affections. 
Children  will  no  longer  cling  around  their  mothers, — no 
longer  fondle  in  that  bosom  where  once  they  toyed  and  joyed. 

The  articles  murmur  among  themselves,  cast  longing 
glances  at  each  other,  meet  the  gaze  of  their  purchasers, 
with  pain  and  distrust  brooding  over  their  countenances. 
They  would  seem  to  trace  the  character— cruel  or  gentle — 
of  each  in  his  look. 

"Was  it  that  God  ordained  one  man  thus  to  doom  another  ? 
No  !  the  very  thought  repulsed  the  plea.  He  never  made 
one  man's  life  to  be  sorrow  and  fear — to  be  the  basest  object, 
upon  which  blighting  strife  for  gold  fills  the  passions  of 
tyrants.  He  never  raaie  man  to  be  a  dealer  in  his  own 
kind.  He  never  maax;  man  after  his  own  image  to  imprecate 
the  wrath  of  heaven  by  blackening  earth  with  his  foul  deeds. 
He  never  made  man  to  blacken  this  fair  portion  of  earth 
with  storms  of  contention,  nor  to  overthrow  the  principles 
that  gave  it  greatness.  He  never  made  man  to  fill  the  cup 
that  makes  the  grim  oppressor  fierce  in  his  triumphs  over 
right. 

Come  reader — come  with  us  :  let  us  look  around  the  pale 
of  these  common  man  shambles.  Here  a  venerable  father 
sits,  a  bale  of  merchandise,  moved  with  the  quick  pulsation 
of  human  senses.  He  looks  around  him  as  the  storm  of 
resentment  seems  ready  to  burst  forth  :  his  wrinkled  brow 
and  haggard  face  in  vain  ask  for  sympathy.  A  little  further 
on,  and  a  mother  leans  over  her  child, — tremblingly  draws  it 
to  her  side ;  presses  it  nearer  and  nearer  to  her  bosom. 
Near  her,  feeding  a  child  with  crumbs  of  bread,  is  a  coarse 
negro,  whose  rough  exterior  covers  a  good  heart.  He  gives 
a  glance  of  hate  and  scorn  at  those  who  are  soon  to  tear 
from  him  his  nearest  and  dearest.  A  gloomy  ring  of  sullen 
faces  encircle  us :  hope,  fear,  and  contempt  are  pictured  ia 
each  countenance.  Anxious  to  know  its  doom,  the  pent-up 


224  HUMAN  NATURE  AT  THE  MAN  SHAMBLES. 

soul  burns  madly  within  their  breasts ;  no  tears  can  quench 
the  fire — freedom  only  can  extinguish  it.  But,  what  are 
such  things  ?  mere  trifles  when  the  soul  loves  only  gold. 
What  are  they  to  men  who  buy  such  human  trifles  ?  who 
buy  and  sell  mankind,  with  feelings  as  unmoved  as  the  virgin 
heart  that  knows  no  guilt  ? 

Various  are  the  remarks  made  by  those  who  are  taking  a 
cursory  view  of  the  people  ;  very  learned  in  nigger  nature 
are  many ;  their  sayings  evince  great  profoundness.  A 
question  seems  to  be  the  separating  of  wenches  from  their 
young  'uns.  This  is  soon  settled.  Graspum,  who  has  made 
his  appearance,  and  is  very  quaintly  and  slowly  making  his 
apprehensions  known,  informs  the  doubting  spectators  that 
Homescos,  being  well  skilled,  will  do  that  little  affair  right 
up  for  a  mere  trifle.  It  takes  him  to  bring  the  nonsense 
out  of  nigger  wenches.  This  statement  being  quite  satis 
factory,  the  gentlemen  purchasers  are  at  rest  on  that  point. 

The  hour  of  sale  has  arrived, — the  crier  rings  his  bell,  the 
purchasers  crowd  up  to  the  stand,  the  motley  group  of 
negroes  take  the  alarm,  and  seem  inclined  to  close  in  towards 
a  centre  as  the  vender  mounts  the  stand.  The  bell,  with 
the  sharp  clanking  sound,  rings  their  funeral  knell ;  they 
startle,  as  with  terror ;  they  listen  with  subdued  anxiety ; 
they  wait  the  result  in  painful  suspense.  How  little  we 
would  recognise  the  picture  from  abroad.  The  vender,  an. 
amiable  gentleman  dressed  in  modest  black,  and  whose 
cheerful  countenance,  graced  with  the  blandest  smile,  be 
tokens  the  antipodes  of  his  inhuman  traffic,  holding  his  hat 
in  his  left  hand,  and  a  long  paper  in  his  right,  makes  an 
obsequious  bow  to  those  who  have  honoured  him  with  their 
company.  He  views  them  for  a  few  moments,  smiles,  casts 
his  eye  over  the  paper  again, — it  sets  forth  age  and  quality — 
and  then  at  his  marketable  people.  The  invoice  is  complete  ; 
the  goods  correspond  exactly.  The  texture  and  quality  have 
been  appraised  by  good  judges.  Being  specified,  he  com 
mences  reading  the  summons  and  writs,  and  concludes  with 
other  preliminaries  of  the  sale. 

"  Now,  gentlemen,"  says  Mr.  Forshou— for  such  is  his 
name— as  he  adjusts  his  hat,  lays  the  document  on  the  desk 
at  his  right  hand,  pulls  up  the  point  of  his  shirt-collar, 
sots  his  neatly-trimmed  whiskers  a  point  forward,  and 
smooths  his  well-oiled  hair  :  "  We — will — proceed — with 


HUMAN  NATURE  AT  THE  MAN  SHAMBLES.  225 

— the — sale — of  this    lot    of  negroes,    according    to    the 
directions  of  the  sheriff  of  the  coiinty.     And  if  no  restric 
tions  are  imposed,  gentlemen  can  make  their  selection  of 
old  or  young  to  suit  their  choice  or  necessities !     G-entlemen, 
however,   will  he  expected  to   pay  for  separating."     Mr. 
Forshou,  by  way  of  interpolation,  reminds  his  friends  that, 
seeing  many  of  his  very  best  customers  present,  he  expects 
sharp    and   healthy  bids.      He  will    further   remind  them 
(smiling  and  fretting  his  hands,  as  if  to  show  the  number  of 
diamond  rings  he  can  afford  to  wear),  that  the  property  has 
been   well    raised,   is  well  known,   and    ranges  from    the 
brightest   and  most  interesting,   to  the  commonest   black 
field     hand.      "  Yes,     gentlemen,"     he     adds,    "  by     the 
fortune  of  this  unfortunate  sale  we  can  accommodate  you 
with  anything  in  the  line  of  negro  property.     We  can  sell 
you  a  Church  and  a  preacher — a  dance-house  and  a  fiddler — 
a  cook  and  an  oyster-shop.     Anything !     All  sold  for  no 
fault ;  and  warranted  as  sound  as  a  roach.     The  honourable 
sheriff  will  gives   titles — that    functionary  being   present 
signifies  his  willingness — and  every  man  purchasing  is  ex 
pected  to  have   his   shiners  ready,  so   that  he  can  plunk 
down  cash  in  ten  days.     I  need  not  recount  the  circum 
stances  under  which  this  property  is  offered  for  sale ;  it  is 
enough  to  say  that  it  is  offered ;  but,  let  me  say,  gentlemen, 
to  enlarge  upon  it  would  be  painful  to  my  feelings.     I  will 
merely  read  the  schedule,  and,  after  selling  the  people,  put 
up  the  oxen,  mules,  and  farming  utensils."     Mr.  Porshou, 
with  easy  contentment,  takes  up  the  list  and  reads  at  the 
top  of  his  voice.      The  names  of  heads   of  families   are 
announced  one  by  one ;    they  answer   the   call  promptly. 
He  continues  till  he  reaches  Annette  and  Nicholas,  and  here 
he  pauses  for  a  few  moments,  turning  from  the  paper  to 
them,  as  if  he  one  minute  saw  them  on  the  paper  and  the 
next  on  the  floor.     "  Here,  gentlemen,"  he  ejaculates,  in  a 
half  guttural  voice — something  he  could  not  account  for 
touched  his  conscience  at  the  moment — holding  the  paper 
nearer  his  eye-glass,  "  there  is  two  bits  of  property  bordering 
on  the  sublime.     It  dazzles — seems  almost  too  interesting 
to  sell.     It  makes  a  feller's  heart  feel  as  if  it  warn't  stuck 
in  the  right  place."     Mr.  Forshou  casts  another  irresistible 
look  at  the  children ;  his  countenance  changes ;  he  says  he 
is  very  sensitive,  and  shows  it  in  his  blushes.     He  might 


226  HUMAN  NATTTBE  AT  THE  MAN  SHAMBLES. 

have  saved  his  blushes  for  the  benefit  of  the  State. 
The  State  is  careful  of  its  blushes ;  it  has  none  to  sell — 
none  to  bestow  on  a  child's  sorrow  ! 

Annette  returns  his  somewhat  touching  manifestation  of 
remorse  with  a  childlike  smile. 

"Well!  I  reckon  how  folks  is  gettin'  tenderish,  now 
a'  days.  Who'd  thought  the  major  had  such  touchy  kind 
a'  feelins  ?  Anything  wrong  just  about  yer  goggler  r" 
interrupts  Romescos,  giving  the  vender  a  quizzical  look,  and 
a  "  half-way  wink."  Then,  setting  his  slouch  hat  on  an  extra 
poise,  he  contorts  his  face  into  a  dozen  grimaces.  "  Keep 
conscience  down,  and  strike  up  trade,"  he  says,  very  coolly, 
drawing  a  large  piece  of  tobacco  from  his  breast-pocket  and 
filling  his  mouth  to  its  utmost  capacity. 

"  Feelings  are  over  all  things,"  responds  the  sheriff,  who 
stands  by,  and  will  speak  for  the  vender,  who  is  less  accus 
tomed  to  speaking  for  himself.  "  Feelings  bring  up 
recollections  of  things  one  never  thought  of  before, — of  the 
happiest  days  of  our  happiest  home.  'Tain't  much,  no, 
nothing  at  all,  to  sell  regular  black  and  coloured  property ; 
but  there's  a  sort  of  cross-grained  mythology  about  the 
business  when  it  comes  to  selling  such  clear  grain  as  this." 
The  vender  relieves  the  honourable  sheriff  from  all 
further  display  of  sympathy,  by  saying  that  he  feels  the 
truth  of  all  the  honourable  and  learned  gentleman  has  said, 
"  which  has  'most  made  the  inward  virtue  of  his  heart  come 
right  up."  He  leans  over  the  desk,  extends  his  hand, 
helps  himself  to  a  generous  piece  of  Romescos'  tobacco. 

Romescos  rejoins  in  a  subdued  voice — "  He  thinks  a  man 
what  loves  dimes  like  the  major  cannot  be  modest  in. 
nigger  business,  because  modesty  ain't  trade  commodity. 
It  cannot  be  ;  the  man  who  thinks  of  such  nonsense  should 
sell  out — should  go  north  and  join  the  humane  society. 
Polks  are  all  saints,  he  feels  sure,  down  north  yander ; 
wouldn't  sell  nigger  property ; — they  only  send  south 
right  smart  preachers  to  keep  up  the  dignity  of  the  insti 
tution  ;  to  do  the  peculiar  religion  of  the  very  peculiar 
institution.  uSTo  objection  to  that ;  nor  hain't  no  objection 
to  their  feelin'  bad  about  the  poor  niggers,  so  long  as  they 
like  our  cash  and  take  our  cotton.  That's  where  the  pin's 
drove  in ;  while  it  hangs  they  wouldn't  be  bad  friends  with 
us  for  the  world." 


HUMAN  NATURE  AT  THE  MAN  SHAMBLES.        227 

"  Tou  may,  Mr.  Uomescos,  suspend  your  remarks,"  says 
the  vender,  looking  indignant,  as  he  thrusts  his  right  hand 
into  his  bosom,  and  attempts  a  word  of  introduction. 

Romescos  must  have  his  last  word ;  he  never  says  die 
•while  he  has  a  word  at  hand .  "  The  major's  love  must  be 
credited,  gentlemen  ;  he's  a  modest  auctioneer, — a  gentle 
man  what  don't  feel  just  right  when  white  property's  for 
sale,"  he  whispers,  sarcastically. 

Another  pause,  then  a  hearty  laughing,  and  the  man 
commences  to  sell  his  people'.  He  has  uttered  but  a  few 
words,  when  Marston's  attorney,  stepping  into  the  centre 
of  the  ring,  and  near  the  vender,  draws  a  paper  from  his 
pocket,  and  commences  reading  in  a  loud  tone.  It  is  a  copy 
of  the  notice  he  had  previously  served  on  the  sheriff,  setting 
forth  in  legal  phraseology  the  freedom  of  the  children, 
"And  therfo'h  this  is  t'  stay  proceedings  until  further 
orders  from  the  honourable  Court  of  Common  Pleas,"  is 
audible  at  the  conclusion.  The  company  are  not  much 
surprised.  There  is  not  much  to  be  surprised  at,  when 
slave  law  and  common  law  come  in  contact.  With 
Marston's  sudden  decline  and  unfathomable  connection 
with  Graspum,  there  is  nothing  left  to  make  the  reading  of 
the  notice  interesting. 

"  Tou  hear  this,  gentlemen  ?"  says  the  vender,  biting  his 
lips  :  "  the  sale  of  this  very  interesting  portion  of  this  very 
interesting  property  is  objected  to  by  the  attorney  for  the 
defendant  at  law.  The)'  must,  therefore,  be  remanded  to  the 
custody  of  the  sheriff,  to  await  the  decision  of  court." 
That  court  of  strange  judgments  !  The  sheriff,  that  won 
derful  medium  of  slaveocratic  power,  comes  forward, 
muttering  a  word  of  consolation  ;  he  will  take  them  away. 
He  passes  them  over  to  an  attendant,  who  conducts  them 
to  their  dark  chilly  cells. 

"  All  right !"  says  Graspum,  moving  aside  to  let  the 
children  pass  out.  "  No  more  than  might  have  been 
expected ;  it's  no  use,  though.  Marstou  will  settle  that 
little  affair  in  a  very  quiet  way."  He  gives  the  man-vender 
a  look  of  approval ;  the  very  celebrated  Mr.  Graspum  has 
self-confidence  enough  for  "six  folks  what  don't  deal  in 
niggers."  A  bystander  touching  him  on  the  arm,  he  gives 
his  head  a  cunning  shake,  crooks  his  finger  on  his  red  nose. 
"  Just  a  thing  of  that  kind,"  he  whispers,  making  some  very 


228  HUMAN  NATURE  AT  THE  MAN  SHAMBLES. 

delicate  legal  gesticulations  with  the  fore-finger  of  his 
right  hand  in  the  palm  of  his  left ;  then,  with  great  gravity, 
he  discusses  some  very  nice  points  of  nigger  law.  He  is 
heard  to  say  it  will  only  be  a  waste  of  time,  and  make  some 
profitable  rascality  for  the  lawyers.  He  could  have  settled 
the  whole  on't  in  seven  minutes.  "  Better  give  them  up 
honourably,  and  let  them  be  sold  with  the  rest.  Property's 
property  all  over  the  world ;  and  we  must  abide  by  the  laws, 
or  what's  the  good  of  the  constitution  ?  To  feel  bad  about 
one's  own  folly  !  The  idea  of  taking  advantage  of  it  at  this 
late  hour  won't  hold  good  in  law.  How  contemptibly 
silly !  men  feeling  fatherly  after  they  have  made  property  of 
their  own  children!  Poor,  conscientious  fools,  how  they 
whine  at  times,  never  thinking  how  they  would  let  their 
womanish  feelings  cheat  their  creditors.  There's  no  honour 
in  that." 

"  Gentlemen !"  interrupts  the  vender,  "  we  have  had 
enough  discussion,  moral,  legal,  and  otherwise.  We  will 
now  have  some  selling." 

The  honourable  sheriff  desires  to  say  a  word  or  two  upon 
points  not  yet  advanced.  "The  sheriff!  the  sheriff!"  is 
exclaimed  by  several  voices.  He  speaks,  having  first 
adjusted  his  spectacles,  and  relieved  himself  of  three  trouble 
some  coughs.  "  The  institution — I  mean,  gentlemen,  the 
peculiar  institution — must  be  preserved  ;  we  cannot,  must 
not,  violate  statutes  to  accommodate  good-feeling  people. 
My  friend  Graspum  is  right,  bob  and  sinker  ;  we'd 
get  ourselves  into  an  everlasting  snarl,  if  we  did.  I  am 
done !"  The  sheriff  withdraws  his  spectacles,  places  them 
very  carefully  in  a  little  case,  wipes  his  mouth  modestly,  and 
walks  away  humming  an  air. 

"Now,  gentlemen,"  says  the  vender,  bristling  with 
renewed  animation.  "  seeing  how  you've  all  recovered  from 
a  small  shock  of  conscience,  we  will  commence  the  sale." 

Aunt  Rachel  is  now  placed  upon  the  stand.  Her  huge 
person,  cleanly  appearance — Auntie  has  got  her  bandana 
tied  with  exquisite  knot — and  very  motherly  countenance 
excite  general  admiration,  as  on  an  elevated  stand  she 
looms  up  before  her  audience.  Mr.  Forshou,  the  very 
gentlemanly  ve'nder,  taking  up  the  paper,  proceeds  to 
describe  Aunt  Rachel's  qualities,  according  to  the  style  and 
manner  of  a  celebrated  race-horse.  Auntie  doesn't  like 


HUMAN  NATURE  AT  THE  MAN  SHAMBLES.        229 

this, — her  dignity  is  touched ;  she  honours  him  with  an 
angry  frown.  Then  she  appeals  to  the  amiable  gentleman ; 
"  come,  mas'r,  sell  'um  quick ;  don'  hab  no  nonsense  wid 
dis  child  !  Sell  'um  to  some  mas'r  what  make  I  house 
keeper.  Old  mas'r, — good  old  Boas, — know  I  fus'  rate  at 
dat.  Let  'um  done  gone,  mas'r,  fo'h  soon."  Rachel 
is  decidedly  opposed  to  long  drawn-out  humbuggery. 

The  bids  now  commence ;  Rachel,  in  mute  anxiety, 
tremblingly  watches  the  lips  they  fall  from. 

"  Give  you  u  first  best  title  to  this  ar'  old  critter,  gentle 
men  !"  says  the  vender,  affecting  much  dignity,  as  he  holds 
up  his  baton  of  the  trade  in  flesh.  Anybody  wanting  a 
good  old  mother  on  a  plantation  where  little  niggers  are 
raised  will  find  the  thing  in  the  old  institution  before  you. 
The  value  is  not  so  much'  in  the  size  of  her,  as  in  her 
glorious  disposition."  Aunt  Rachel  makes  three  or  four 
turns,  like  a  peacock  on  a  pedestal,  to  amuse  her  admirers. 
Again,  Mr.  Wormlock  intimates,  in  a  tone  that  the  vender 
may  hear,  that  she  has  some  grit,  for  he  sees  it  in  her 
demeanour,  which  is  assuming  the  tragic.  Her  eyes,  as  she 
turns,  rest  upon  the  crispy  face  of  Romescos.  She  views 
him  for  a  few  moments — she  fears  he  will  become  her 
purchaser.  Her  lip  curls  with  contempt,  as  she  turns 
from  his  gaze  and  recognises  an  old  acquaintance,  whom 
she  at  once  singles  out,  accosts  and  invites  beseechingly 
to  be  her  purchaser,  "  to  save  her  from  dat  man !"  She 
points  to  Romescos. 

Her  friend  shakes  his  head  unwillingly.  Fearing  he  may 
become  an  object  of  derision,  he  will  not  come  forward. 
Poor  old  slave !  faithful  from  her  childhood  up,  she  has 
reached  an  age  where  few  find  it  profitable  to  listen  to  her 
supplications.  The  black  veil  of  slavery  has  shut  out  the 
past  good  of  her  life, — all  her  faithfulness  has  gone  for 
nothing ;  she  has  passed  into  that  channel  where  only  the 
man-dealer  seeks  her  for  the  few  dollars  worth  of  labour  left 
in  a  once  powerful  body.  Oh!  valuable  remnant  of  a  life, 
how  soon  it  may  be  exhausted — forgotten! 

Bidders  have  some  doubts  about  the  amount  of  labour 
she  can  yet  perform ;  and,  after  much  manifest  hesitancy, 
she  is  knocked  down  to  Romescos  for  the  sum  of  two 
hundred  and  seventy  dollars.  "  There  !  'tain't  a  bad  price 
for  ye,  nohow  !"  says  the  vender,  laconically.  "  Get  down, 


230  HUMAN  NATTJBE  AT  THE  MAN  SHAMBLES. 

old  woman."  Rachel  moves  to  the  steps,  and  is  received 
by  Romescos,  who,  taking  his  purchase  by  the  arm,  very 
mechanically  sets  it  on  one  side.  "  Come,  Auntie,  we'll  make 
a  corn-cracker  a'  you,  until  such  time  as  we  can  put  yer 
old  bones  in  trim  to  send  south.  Grenerousness,  ye  see,  made 
me  gin  more  nor  ye  war'  worth— not  much  work  in  ye  when 
ye  take  it  on  the  square; — but  a  feller  what  understands 
the  trimmin'  a'  niggers  like  I  can  do  ye  up  young,  and  put 
an  honest  face  on  while  he's  cheatin'  some  green  chap 
with  yer  old  bones."  Romescos,  very  clever  in  his 
profession,  is  not  quite  sure  that  his  newly-purchased 
property  will  "  stay  put."  He  turns  about  suddenly, 
approaches  Rachel — crouched  in  a  corner — mumbling  over 
some  incomprehensible  jargon,  evidently  very  much  disturbed 
in  her  feelings,  saying,  "  I  kind  a'  think  I  see  devil  in  yer 
eye,  old  woman."  Rachel  turns  her  head  aside,  but  makes 
no  answer.  Mr.  Romescos  will  make  everything  certain ; 
so,  drawing  a  cord,  similar  to  a  small  sized  clothes  line,  from 
his  pocket,  she  holds  up  her  hands  at  his  bidding :  he  winds 
it  several  times  round  her  wrists,  then  ties  it  securely. 
"  The  property's  all  safe  now,"  he  whispers,  and  returns  to 
attend  the  bidding  arrangements. 

One  by  one — mothers,  fathers,  and  single  property,  old 
and  youug,  as  may  be — are  put  upon  the  stand ;  sold  for 
the  various  uses  of  manifest  democracy.  Harry, — the 
thinking  property,  whose  sense-keeping  has  betrayed  the 
philosophy  of  profound  democracy, — is  a  preacher,  and,  by 
the  value  of  his  theological  capacity,  attracts  more  than 
ordinary  attention.  But  his  life  has  been  a  failure, — a  mere 
experiment  in  divinity  struggling  with  the  sensitive  power  of 
model  democracy.  He  now  seems  impatient  to  knowthat  doom 
to  which  the  freedom  of  an  enlightened  age  has  consigned 
him.  One  minute  some  cheering  hope  of  his  getting  a  good 
master  presents  itself  in  a  familiar  face  ;  then  it  turns  away, 
and  with  it  vanishes  his  hope.  Another  comes  forward,  but 
it  is  merely  to  view  his  fine  proportions. 

Harry  has  feelings,  and  is  strongly  inclined  to  cling  to 
the  opinion  that  those  who  know  his  character  and  talents, 
will  be  inclined  to  purchase.  Will  they  save  him  from  the 
cruelties  of  ordinary  plantation  life  ? 

"  Now  for  the  preacher!  — Mr.  Forshou  touches  his  hat, 
politely.       Gentlemen  purchasing,  and  wanting  a  church 


HUMAN  NATURE  AT  THE  MAN  SHAMBLES.        231 

can  be  accommodated  with  that  article  to-morrow.  Come, 
boy,  mount  up  here  !"  The  preaching  article  draws  his 
steps  reluctantly,  gets  up,  and  there  stands, — a  black  divine  : 
anybody  may  look  at  him,  anybody  may  examine  him,  any 
body  may  kick  him ;  anybody  may  buy  him,  body,  soul,  and 
theology.  How  pleasing,  how  charmingly  liberal,  is  the 
democracy  that  grants  the  sweet  privilege  of  doing  all  these 
things !  Harry  has  a  lew  simple  requests  to  make,  which 
his  black  sense  might  have  told  him  the  democracy  could 
not  grant.  He  requests  (referring  to  his  position  as  a 
minister  of  the  gospel)  that  good  master — the  vender — 
will  sell  him  with  his  poor  old  woman,  and  that  he  do 
not  separate  him  from  his  dear  children.  In  support  of  his 
appeal  he  sets  forth,  in  language  that  would  be  impressive 
were  it  from  white  lips,  that  he  wants  to  teach  his  little 
ones  in  the  ways  of  the  Lord.  "  Do,  mas'r !  try  sell  us  so 
we  live  together,  where  my  heart  can  feel  and  my  eyes  see 
my  children,"  he  concludes,  pointing  to  his  children  (living 
emblems  of  an  oppressed  race),  who,  with  his  hapless  wife, 
are  brought  forward  and  placed  on  the  stand  at  his  feet. 
Harry  (the  vender  pausing  a  moment)  reaches  out  his  hand 
(that  hand  so  feared  and  yet  so  harmless),  and  affectionately 
places  it  on  the  head  of  his  youngest  child ;  then,  taking  it 
up,  he  places  it  in  the  arms  of  his  wife, — perhaps  not  long 
to  be  so, — who  stands  trembling  and  sobbing  at  his  side. 
Behold  how  picturesque  is  the  fruit  of  democracy!  Three  small 
children,  clinging  round  the  skirts  of  a  mother's  garment, 
casting  sly  peeps  at  purchasers  as  if  they  had  an  instinctive 
knowledge  of  their  fate.  They  must  be  sold  for  the  satis 
faction  of  sundry  debts  held  by  sundry  democratic  creditors. 
How  we  affect  to  scorn  the  tyranny  of  Russia,  because 
of  her  serfdom !  Would  to  God  there  were  truth  and 
virtue  in  the  scorn  ! 

Mr.  Forshou,  the  very  sensitive  and  gentlemanly  vender — 
he  has  dropped  the  title  of  honourable,  which  was  given  him 
on  account  of  his  having  been  a  member  of  the  State  Senate — 
takes  Harry  by  the  right  hand,  and  leads  him  round,  where,  at 
the  front  of  the  tribune,  customers  may  have  a  much  better 
opportunity  of  seeing  for  themselves. 

"Yes!  he's  a  swell — a  right  good  fellow."  Mr.  Forshou 
turns  to  his  schedule,  glancing  his  eye  up  and  down.  "  I  see ; 
it's  put  down  here  in  the  invoice:  a  minister  —  warranted 


232  HUMAN  NATUBE  AT  THE  MAN  SHAMBLES. 

sound  in  every  respect.  It  does  seem  to  me,  gentlemen, 
that  here  s  a  right  smart  chance  for  a  planter  who  'tends  to 
the  pious  of  his  niggers,  giving  them  a  little  preaching 
once  in  a  while.  Now,  let  the  generous  move  ;  shake  your 
dimes ;  let  us  turn  a  point,  and  see  what  can  be  done  in 
the  way  of  selling  the  lot, — preacher,  wife,  and  family.  The 
boy,  H^rry,  is  a  preacher  by  nature ;  has  by  some  unknown 
process  tumbled  into  the  profession.  He's  a  methodist,  I 
reckon  !  But  there's  choice  field  property  in  him  ;  and  his 
wife,  one  of  the  primest  wenches  in  the  gang,  never  says 
die  when  there's  plenty  of  cotton  to  pick.  As  for  the 
young  uns,  they  ar_>  pure  stock.  You  must  remember, 
gentlemen,  preachers  are  not  in  the  market  every  day  ;  and 
when  one's  to  be  got  that'll  preach  the  right  stripe,  there's 
no  knowing  the  value  of  him " 

"  We  don't  want  so  much  of  this,"  interrupts  a  voice  in 
the  crowd. 

"  Kather  anxious  to  buy  the  feller,"  Mr.  Forshou 
replies,  affecting  much  indifference.  He  will  say  a  few 
words  more.  "  Think  the  matter  over,  upon  strict  principles 
of  political  economy,  arid  you'll  find,  gentlemen,  he's  just 
the  article  for  big  planters.  I  am  happy  to  see  the  calm, 
and  serene  faces  of  three  of  my  friends  of  the  clergy 
present ;  will  they  not  take  an  interest  for  a  fellow-worker 
in  a  righteous  cause  ?"  The  vender  smiles,  seems  inclined 
to  jocularity,  to  which  the  gentlemen  in  black  are  un 
willing  to  submit.  They  have  not  been  moving  among 
dealers,  and  examining  a  piece  of  property  here  and  there, 
with  any  sinecure  motive.  They  view  the  vender's  remarks 
as  exceedingly  offensive,  return  a  look  of  indignation,  and 
slowly,  as  if  with  wounded  piety,  walk  away.  The  gentlemen 
in  black  are  most  sensitive  when  any  comparison  is  made 
between  them  and  a  black  brother.  •  How  horible  shocked 
they  seem,  as,  with  white  neckerchiefs  so  modest,  they  look 
ba«k  as  they  merge  from  the  mart  into  the  street ! 

It  is  a  question  whether  these  sensitive  divines  were 
shocked  at  the  affectation  and  cold  indifference  manifested 
by  legitimate  dealers,  or  at  the  vender's  very  impertinent 
remarks.  We  will  not  charge  aught  against  our  brethren 
of  the  clergy :  no,  we  will  leave  the  question  open  to  the 
reader.  We  love  them  as  good  men  who  might  labour  for 
a  better  cause ;  we  will  leave  them  valiant  defenders  oi 


HUMAN  NATUBE  AT  THE  MAN  SHAMBLES.  233 

•southern  chivalry,  southern  generosity,  southern  affability, 
and  southern  injustice.  To  be  offended  at  so  small  an 
affair  as  selling  a  brother  clergyman, — to  make  the  insinua 
tion  that  they  are  not  humane,  cause  of  insult, — is,  indeed, 
the  very  essence  of  absurdity. 

The  vender  makes  a  few  side-motions  with  his  thumbs, 
winks  to  several  of  his  customers,  and  gives  a  significant 
nod,  as  the  gentlemen  in  black  pass  out  of  the  insulting 
establishment.  "  Well,  gentlemen,  I'm  sorry  if  I've 
offended  anybody ;  but  there's  a  deep-rooted  principle  in 
what  I've  said,  nor  do  I  think  it  Christian  for  the  clergy  to 
clear  out  in  that  shape.  However,  God  bless  'em;  let  'em  go 
on  their  way  rejoicing.  Here's  the  boy — he  turns  and  puts 
his  hand  kindly  on  Harry's  shoulder— and  his  wench,  and  his 
young  uns, — a  minister  and  family,  put  down  in  the 
invoice  as  genuine  prime.  Our  worthy  sheriff's  a  good 
judge  of  deacons — the  sheriff — high  functionary — acknow 
ledges  the  compliment  by  respectfully  nodding — and  my 
opinion  is  that  the  boy'll  make  a  good  bishop  yet :  he 
only  wants  an  apron  and  a  fair  showing."  He  touches  Harry 
under  the  chin,  laughing  heartily  the  while. 

"  Yes,  master,"  replies  Harry — he  has  little  of  the  negro 
accent— quieting  his  feelings  ;  "  what  I  larn  is  all  from  the 
Bible,  while  master  slept.  Sell  my  old  woman  and  little 
ones  with  me ;  my  heart  is  in  their  welfare " 

"  Don't  trifle  with  the  poor  fellow's  feelings ;  put  him 
up  and  sell  him  to  the  best  advantage.  There's  nobody  here 
that  wants  a  preacher  and  family.  It's  only  depreciating  the 
value  of  the  property  to  sell  it  in  the  lot,"  says  Graspum, 
in  a  firm  voice.  He  has  been  standing  as  unmoved  as  a 
stoic,  seeing  nothing  but  property  in  the  wretch  of  a  clergy 
man,  whose  natural  affections,  pictured  in  his  imploring 
looks,  might  have  touched  some  tender  chord  of  his  feelings. 

After  several  attempts,  it  is  found  impossible  to  sell  the 
minister  and  his  family  in  one  lot.  Hence,  by  the  force 
of  necessity,  his  agonising  beseechings  pouring  forth,  he 
is  put  up  like  other  single  bales  of  merchandise,  and  sold 

to  Mr.  MTadden,  of  A district.  The  minister  brought 

eleven  hundred  dollars,  ready  money  down  !  The  purchaser 
is  a  well-known  planter  ;  he  has  worked  his  way  up  in  the 
world,  is  a  rigid  disciplinarian,  measuring  the  square  inches 


234  HITMAN  NATURE  AT  THE  MAN  SHAMBLES. 

of  labour  in  his  property,  and  adapting  the  best  process  of 
bringing  it  all  out. 

"  He's  all  I  want,"  says  MTadden,  making  a  move 
outward,  and  edging  his  way  through  the  crowd. 

"  A  moment  with  my  poor  old  woman,  master,  if  you 
please?"  says  Harry,  turning  round  to  his  wife. 

"  None  of  your  black  humbugging  ;  thei'e's  wives  enough 
on  my  place,  and  a  parson  can  have  his  choice  out  of  fifty," 
returns  MTadden,  dragging  him  along  by  the  arm.  The 
scene  that  here  ensues  is  harrowing  in  the  extreme.  The 
cries  and  sobs  of  children, — the  solicitude  and- affection  of 
his  poor  wife,  as  she  throws  her  arms  about  her  husband's 
neck, — his  falling  tears  of  sorrow,  as  one  by  one  he  snatches 
up  his  children  and  kisses  them, — are  painfully  touching. 
It  is  the  purest,  simplest,  holiest  of  love,  gushing  forth  from 
nature's  fountain.  It  were  well  if  we  could  but  cherish 
its  heavenly  worth.  That  woman,  the  degraded  of  a 
despised  race,  her  arms  round  a  fond  husband's  neck, 
struggling  with  death-like  grasp,  and  imploring  them  not 
to  take  him  from  her.  The  men  who  have  made  him  mer 
chandise, — who  have  trodden  his  race  in  the  dust, — look 
on  unmoved  as  the  unfeeling  purchaser  drags  him  from 
the  embrace  of  all  that  is  near  and  dear  to  him  on  earth. 
Here,  in  this  boasted  freest  country  the  sun  shines  on 
— where  freedom  was  bequeathed  by  our  brave  forefathers, 
— where  the  complex  tyranny  of  an  old  world  was  over 
thrown, — such  scenes  violate  no  law.  When  will  the 
glorious,  the  happy  day  of  their  death  come  ?  When  shall 
the  land  be  free  ? 

M'Fadden,  having  paid  the  price  of  his  clergyman,  drags 
him  to  (.he  door.  "  Once  more,  master,"  mutters  the  victim^ 
looking  back  with  fear  and  hope  pictured  on  his  imploring 
face.  MTaddeu  has  no  patience  with  such  useless  implorings, 
and  orders  him  to  move  along.  "I  will  see  them  once  more!" 
the  man  exclaims,  "  I  will !  Grood  bye  !  may  Heaven  bless 
you  on  earth,  my  little  ones  ! — God  will  protect  us  when  we 
meet  again  !"  The  tears  course  down  his  cheeks. 

"  None  of  that  ar'  kind  of  nonsense !  Shut  down  yer 
tear-trap,"  says  M'Fadden,  calling  an  attendant,  and, 
drawing  a  pair  of  irons  from  his  pocket,  placing  them  about 
Harry's  hands.  Mr.  MTadden' s  property  shows  signs  ol 


HUMAN  NATURE  AT  THE  MAN  SHAMBLES.        235 

being  somewhat  belligerent :  to  obviate  any  further  non 
sense,  and  to  make  short  work  of  the  thing,  Mr.  M'Fadden 
calls  in  aid,  throws  his  property  on  the  ground,  ties  its  legs 
with  a  piece  of  rope,  places  it  upon  a  drag,  and  orders  it  to 
be  conveyed  to  the  depot,  from  whence  it  will  be  despatched 
by  rail  for  a  new  home. 

This  little  ceremony  over,  the  wife  and  children 
(Komescos  and  M'Fadden,  not  very  good  friends,  were 
competitors  for  the  preacher  property)  are  put  up  and  sold 
to  Itomescos.  That  skilful  and  very  adroit  gentleman 
is  engaged  to  do  the  exciting  business  of  separating,  which 
he  is  progressing  with  very  coolly  and  cleverly.  The  whole 
scene  closes  with  selling  the  animal  property  and  farming 
utensils.  Happy  Christian  brothers  are  they  who  would  spread 
the  wings  of  their  Christianity  over  such  scenes! 
16 


CHAPTER  XX. 
A  FATHER'S  TRIALS. 

IF  modern  Christianity,  as  improved  in  our  southern  world 
— we  mean  our  world  of  slavery — had  blushes,  it  might 
improve  the  use  of  them  were  we  to  recount  in  detail  the 
many  painful  incidents  which  the  improved  and  very  christianiy 
process  of  separating  husbands  from  wives,  narents  from 
children,  brothers  from  sisters,  and  friends  from  all  the  ties 
and  associations  the  heart,  gives  birtn  to.  Negroes  have 
tender  sympathies,  strong  loves.  Reader,  we  will  save  your 
feelings, — we  will  not  recount  them ;  our  aim  is  not  to  excite 
undue  feeling,  but  to  relate  every-day  scenes. 

Days  and  weeks  pass  on  drearily  with  Marston.  Un 
happy,  forlorn,  driven  to  the  last  extremity  by  obdurate 
creditors,  he  waits  the  tardy  process  of  the  law.  He  seldom 
appears  in  public ;  for  those  who  professed  to  be  his  best 
friends  have  become  his  coldest  acquaintances.  But  hehastwo 
friends  left, — friends  whose  pure  friendship  is  like  sweetest 
dew-drops  :  they  are  Pranconia  and  Daddy  Bob.  The  rusty 
old  servant  is  faithful,  full  of  benevolence,  gratitude,  and 
unshaken  fidelity ;  the  other  is  the  generous  woman,  in 
whose  bosom  beat  the  tender  impulses  of  a  noble  soul. 
Those  impulses  have  been  moved  to  action  in  defence  of  the 
innocent ;  they  never  can  be  defeated.  Bob  is  poor,  abject, 
and  old  with  toil.  He  cares  not  to  be  free, — he  wants 
mas'r  free.  But  there  yet  remains  some  value  in  Bob  ;  and 
he  has  secreted  himself,  in  hopes  of  escaping  the  man- 
dealer,  and  sharing  his  earnings  in  the  support  of  old  mas'r. 
Franconia  is  differently  situated ;  yet  she  can  only  take 
advantage  of  circumstances  which  yet  depend  upon  the 
caprice  of  a  subtle-minded  husband.  Over  both  these 
friends  of  the  unfortunate,  slavery  has  stretched  its  giant 
arms,  confusing  the  social  system,  uprooting  the  integrity 
of  men,  weakening  respect  for  law,  violating  the  best  pre 
cepts  of  nature,  substituting  passion  for  principle,  confound 
ing  reason,  and  enslaving  public  opinion. 


A  FATHER'S  TRIALS.  237 

Under  the  above  disorganising  state  of  the  social  compact, 
the  children,  known  to  be  Marston's,  are  pursued  as  property 
belonging  to  the  bankrupt  estate.  When  the  law  has  made 
it  such,  it  must  be  sold  in  satisfaction  of  Marston's  debts. 

Seven  months  have  passed  since  they  were  shut  up  in 
a  felon's  cell.  They  have  been  visited  by  Marston  ;  he  has 
been  kind  to  them, — kind  as  a  father  could  be  under  such 
circumstances.  Franconia  has  not  forgotten  them :  she 
sends  many  little  things  to  lighten  the  gloom  of  their  con 
finement  ;  but  society  closes  her  lips,  and  will  frown  upon 
any  disclosure  she  may  make  of  their  parentage.  "Were 
she  to  disclose  it  to  Colonel  M'Carstrow,  the  effect  would  be 
doubtful:  it  might  add  to  the  suspicious  circumstances 
already  excited  against  her  unfortunate  uncle.  The  para 
mount  question — whether  they  are  hereafter  to  be  chattel 
slaves,  or  human  beings  with  inalienable  rights — must  be 
submitted  to  the  decision  of  a  judicial  tribunal.  It  is  by 
no  means  an  uncommon  case,  but  very  full  of  interest.  It 
will  merely  be  interesting — not  as  involving  any  new  ques 
tion  of  law,  nor  presenting  new  phases  of  southern  juris-, 
prudence— in  showing  what  very  notorious  dealers  in  human 
kind,  and  lawyers  of  great  legal  ability,  can  morally  and 
legally  perform.  It  will  show  how  great  men  figure  in  the 
arena  of  legal  degradation,  how  they  unrayel  the  mystery 
of  slave  power. 

G-raspum,  professedly  uninterested,  has  purchased  the 
claims,  and  will  pursue  the  payment  in  the  name  of  the 
original  plaintiffs.  With  Homescos's  cunning  aid,  of  course 
the  trial  will  be  a  perfect  farce,  the  only  exception  being 
that  the  very  profound  Mr.  Graspum  will  exhibit  a  degree  of 
great  sincerity  on  his  part. 

The  sessions  are  sitting ;  the  day  for  the  trial  of  this 
important  case  has  arrived ;  the  little  dingy  court-room  is 
early  crowded  to  excess,  but  there  is  not  much  expression  of 
anxiety.  Men  speak  lightly  of  the  issue,  as  if  some 
simple  game  were  to  be  played.  The  judge,  a  grave-looking 
gentleman  of  no  ordinary  mien,  in  whose  full  countenance 
sternness  is  predominant  in  the  well-displayed  estimation 
in  which  he  holds  his  important  self,  walks  measuredly  into 
court — the  lacqueys  of  the  law  crying  "  Court !  court !"  to 
which  he  bows— and  takes  his  seat  upon  an  elevated  tribune. 
There  is  great  solemnity  preserved  at  the  opening:  the 


238  A  FATHER'S  TRIALS. 

sheriff,  with  well-ordained  costume  and  sword,  sits  at  his 
honour's  left,  his  deputy  on  the  right,  and  the  very  ho 
nourable  clerk  of  the  court  just  below,  where  there  can  be 
no  impediment  during  the  process  of  feeding  "the  Court"  on 
very  legal  points  of  "  nigger  law."  In  truth,  the  solemnity 
of  this  court,  to  those  unacquainted  witu  the  tenor  of  legal 
proceedings  at  the  south,  might  have  been  misconstrued  for 
something  more  in  keeping  with  justice. 

The  legal  gentlemen,  most  modest  of  face,  are  seated 
round  the  bar — a  semicircular  railing  dividing  their  dignity 
from  the  common  spectator — waiting  the  reading  of  the 
docket.  The  clerk  takes  his  time  about  that,  and  seems  a 
great  favourite  with  the  spectators,  who  applaud  his  rising. 
He  reads,  the  sheriff  crying  "  order  !  order !"  while  the  judge 
learnedly  examines  his  notes.  Some  consultation  takes 
place  between  several  of  the  attorneys,  which  is  interlarded 
with  remarks  from  the  judge,  who,  with  seeming  satisfaction 
to  all  parties,  orders  the  case  of  B.  C.  E.  K.  Marston's 
writ  of  replevin  to  be  called  and  proceeded  with.  "  As 
there  are  three  ji  fas"  says  the  junior  attorney  for  the  de 
fendants,  a  very  lean  strippling  of  the  law,  just  working  his 
way  up  in  the  world,  "  I  object  to  the  manner  of  procedure; 
the  case  only  involves  a  question  of  law,  and  should  be  sub 
mitted  to  the  special  decision  of  the  Court.  It  is  not  a 
matter  for  a  jury  to  decide  upon,"  he  concludes.  The  judge 
has  listened  to  his  remarks,  objections,  and  disclaimers,  with 
marked  attention ;  nevertheless,  he  is  compelled  to  overrule 
them,  and  order  the  case  to  proceed.  Upon  this  it  is  agreed 
among  the  attorneys — happy  fellows,  always  ready  to  agree 
or  disagree — that  a  decision  taken  upon  one  fi  fa  shall  be 
held  as  establishing  a  decision  for  all  the  cases  at  issue. 

The  children  are  now  brought  into  Court,  and  seated  near 
one  of  the  attorneys.  Marston  stands,  almost  motionless,  a 
few  steps  back,  gazing  upon  them  as  intently  and  solicitously 
as  if  the  issue  were  life  or  death.  Deacon  Rosebrook,  his 
good  lady,  and  Franconia,  have  been  summoned  as  witnesses, 
and  sit  by  the  side  of  each  other  on  a  bench  within  the  bar. 
We  hear  a  voice  here  and  there  among  the  crowd  of  spec 
tators  expressing  sympathy  for  the  children ;  others  say 
they  are  only  "  niggers,"  and  can't  be  aught  else,  if  it  bo 

Soved  that  Marston  bought  the  mother.      And  there  is 
r.  Scranton !     He  is  well  seated  among  the  gentlemen  of 


A  FATHER'S  TRIALS.  239 

the  legal  profession,  for  whom,  he  has  a  strong  fellow  feeling. 
He  sits,  unmoved,  in  his  wonted  moodiness  ;  now  and  then 
he  gives  the  children  a  sly  look  of  commiseration,  as  if  the 
screws  of  his  feelings  were  unloosing.  They — the  little  pro 
perty—look  so  interesting,  so  innocent,  so  worthy  of  being 
something  more  than  merchandise  in  a  land  of  liberty,  that 
Mr.  Scrauton's  heart  has  become  irresistibly  softened.  It 
gets  a  few  degrees  above  Mr.  Scranton's  constitutional 
scruples.  "  Painful  ailhir  this !  What  do  you  think  of  it, 
Mr.  Scranton  r"  enquires  a  member  of  the  profession,  touch 
ing  his  arm. 

"  It  is  the  fruit  of  Marston's  weakness,  you  see  ! — don't 
feel  just  straight,  I  reckon.  Didn't  understand  the  philo 
sophy  of  the  law,  neither  ;  and  finds  himself  pinched  up  by 
a  sort  of  humanity  that  won't  pass  for  a  legal  tender  in 
business " 

"  Ah !  we  cannot  always  look  into  the  future,"  interrupts 
the  attorney. 

Mr.  Scranton  holds  that  whatever  is  constitutional  must 
be  right  and  abidable ;  that  one's  feelings  never  should 
joggle  our  better  understanding  when  these  little  curiosities 
come  in  the  way.  He  admits,  however,  that  they  are  strange 
attendants  coming  up  once  in  a  while,  like  the  fluctuations  of 
an  occult  science.  With  him,  the  constitution  gives  an  in 
disputable  right  to  overlook  every  outrage  upon  natural  law; 
and,  while  it  exists  in  full  force,  though  it  may  strip  one 
half  the  human  race  of  rights,  he  has  no  right  to  complain  so 
long  as  it  does  not  interfere  with  him.  It  strikes  Mr. 
Scranton  that  people  who  differ  with  him  in  opinion  must 
have  been  educated  under  the  teaching  of  a  bad  philosophy. 
Great  governments,  he  holds,  often  nurture  the  greatest 
errors.  It  matters  not  how  much  they  feel  their  magnitude; 
often,  the  more  they  do,  th.e  least  inclined  are  they  to  correct 
them.  Others  fear  the  constitutional  structure  so  much, 
that  they  stand  trembling  lest  the  slightest  correction  totter 
it  to  the  ground.  Great  governments,  too,  are  most  likely 
to  stand  on  small  points  when  these  errors  are  pointed  out. 
Mr.  Scranton  declares,  with  great  emphasis,  that  all  these 
things  are  most  legally  true,  perfectly  natural :  they  follow 
in  man  as  well  as  governments. 

With  all  due  deference  to  Mr.  Scranton's  opinion,  so 
much  demanded  among  his  admiring  neighbours,  it  must  be 


240  A  FATHER'S  TRIALS. 

said  that  he  never  could  bring  liis  miud  to  understand  the 
difference  between  natural  philosophy  and  his  own  constitu 
tional  scruples,  and  was  very  apt  to  commit  himself  in  argu 
ment,  forgetting  that  the  evil  was  in.  the  fruits  of  a  bad  system, 
bringing  disgrace  upon  his  countrymen,  corrupting  the  moral 
foundation  of  society,  spreading  vice  around  the  domestic 
fireside,  and  giving  to  base-minded  men  power  to  speculate 
in  the  foulness  of  their  own  crimes. 

The  case  is  opened  by  the  attorney  for  the  plaintiff,  who 
makes  a  great  many  direct  and  indirect  remarks,  and  then 
calls  witnesses.  "Marco  Grraspum!"  the  clerk  exclaims. 
That  gentleman  comes  forward,  takes  his  place,  calmly,  upon 
the  witnesses'  stand.  At  first  he  affects  to  know  but  little  ; 
then  suddenly  remembers  that  he  has  heard  Marston  call 
their  mothers  property.  Further,  he  has  heard  him,  while 
extolling  their  qualities,  state  the  purchase  to  have  been  made 
of  one  Silenus,  a  trader. 

"  He  stated — be  sure  now ! — to  you,  that  he  purchased 
them  of  one  Silenus,  a  trader?"  interpolates  the  judge,  rais 
ing  his  glasses,  and  advancing  his  ear,  with  his  hand  raised 
at  its  side. 

"  Tes,  yer  honour !"  "  Please  observe  this  testimony,"  re 
joins  the  attorney,  quickly.  He  bows  ;  says  that  is  enough. 
The  opposing  attorney  has  no  question  to  put  on  cross- 
examination  :  he  knows  Grraspum  too  well.  Being  quite  at 
home  with  the  gentlemen  of  the  legal  profession,  they  know 
his  cool  nonchalance  never  can  be  shaken  upon  a  point  of 
testimony. 

"  Any  questions  to  put  ?  '  asks  the  legal  opponent,  with  an 
air  of  indifference. 

"  No,  nothing,"  is  the  reply. 

His  brother  of  special  pleas  smiles,  gives  a  cunning  glance 
at  Gfraspum,  and  wipes  his  face  with  a  very  white  handker 
chief.  He  is  conscious  of  the  character  of  his  man  ;  it  saves 
all  further  trouble.  "  When  we  know  who  we  have  to  deal 
with,  we  know  how  to  deal,"  he  mutters,  as  he  sits  down. 

Graspum  retires  from  the  stand,  and  takes  his  seat  among 
the  witnesses.  "  We  will  now  call  Anthony  Jiomescos,"  says 
the  attorney.  A  few  minutes'  pause,  and  that  individual  rolls 
out  in  all  his  independence,  takes  his  place  on  the  stand. 
He  goes  through  a  long  series  of  questioning  and  cross- 
q-uestioning,  answers  for  which  he  seems  to  have  well  studied 


A  FATHER'S  TRIALS.  241 

The  whole  amounts  to  nothiua;  more  than  a  corroboration 
of  Graspum's  testimony.  He  has  heard  Marston  call  their 
mothers  property :  once,  he  thinks,  but  would  hesitate 
before  pledging  his  honour,  that  Marston  offered  to  him  the 
•woman  Clotilda.  Yes ;  it  was  her ! 

Considerable  excitement  is  now  apparent ;  the  auditory 
whisperamongthemselves,attorneys  puttheir  heads  together, 
turn  and  turn  over  the  leaves  of  their  statutes.  His  honour, 
the  Court,  looks  wiser  still.  Marston  trembles  and  turns  pale; 
his  soul  is  pinioned  between  hope  and  fear.  Romescos  has 
told  something  more  than  he  knows,  and  continues,  at 
random,  recounting  a  dozen  or  more  irrelevant  things.  The 
court,  at  length,  deems  it  necessary  to  stop  his  voluntary 
testimony,  orders  that  he  only  answer  such  questions  as  are 
put  to  him. 

"  There's  no  harm  in  a  feller  tellin'  what  he  knows,  eh  ! 
judge  ?"  returns  Romescos,  dropping  a  quid  of  tobacco  at 
his  side,  bowing  sarcastically  to  the  judge,  and  drawing  his 
face  into  a  comical  picture. 

Mr.  Romescos  is  told  that  he  can  stand  aside.  At  this 
seemingly  acceptable  announcement,  he  bristles  his  crispy  red 
hair  with  his  fingers,  shrugs  his  shoulders,  winks  at  two  or 
three  of  ths  jurymen,  pats  Grraspum  on  the  shoulder  as  he 
passes  him,  and  takes  his  seat. 

"  "We  will  close  tne  case  here,  but  reserve  the  right  of  in 
troducing  further  testimony,  if  necessary,"  says  the  learned 
and  very  honourable  counsel. 

The  defence  here  rises,  and  states  the  means  by  which  his 
client  intends  to  prove  the  freedom  of  the  children ;  and 
concludes  by  calling  over  the  names  of  the  witnesses. 
Franconia  !  Franconia  !  we  hear  that  name  called  ;  it  sounds 
high  above  the  others,  and  falls  upon  our  ear  most  mourn 
fully.  Franconia,  that  sweet  creature  of  grace  and  delicacy, 
brought  into  a  court  where  the  scales  of  injustice  are  made 
to  serve  iniquity ! 

Franconia's  reserve  and  modesty  put  legal  gentlemen's 
gallantry  to  the  test.  One  looks  over  the  pages  of  his  re 
ports,  another  casts  a  sly  look  as  she  sweeps  by  to  take  that 
place  the  basest  of  men  has  just  left.  The  interested  spec 
tators  stretch  their  persons  anxiously,  to  get  a  look  at  the 
two  pretty  children,  honourable  and  legal  gentlemen  are 
straining  their  ability  to  reduce  to  property.  There  stands 


•>42  A  FATHER  S  TRIALS. 

the  blushing  woman,  calm  and  beautiful,  a  virtuous  rebuke 
to  curious  spectators,  mercenary  slave  dealers,  the  very 
learned  gentlemen  of  the  bar,  and  his  enthroned  honour,  the 
Court !  She  will  give  testimony  that  makes  nature  frown 
at  its  own  degradation.  Not  far  from  Franconia  sits  the 
very  constitutional  Mr.  Scranton,  casting  side  glances  now  and 
then.  Our  philosopher  certainly  thinks,  though  he  will  not 
admit  it, the  chivalry  is  overtaxing  itself ;  there  wasno  occasion 
for  compelling  so  fair  a  creature  to  come  into  court,  and  hear 
base  testimony  before  a  base  crowd, — to  aid  a  base  law  in 
securing  base  ends.  And  then,  just  think  and  blush,  ye  who 
have  blushes  to  spare. 

Will  the  learned  gentleman  proceed  with  the  examination 
of  this  witness  ?"  says  his  honour,  who,  pen  in  hand,  has 
been  waiting  several  minutes  to  take  down  her  testimony. 
Court  and  audience,  without  knowing  why,  have  come  to  an 
unconscious  pause. 

"  Will  the  witness  state  to  the  court  in  what  relation  she 
stands  to  the  gentleman  who  defends  the  freedom  of  the 
children, — Mr.  Hugh  Marston?"  saysthe  attorney, addressing 
his  bland  words  to  Franconia,  somewhat  nervously. 

"  He — he — he — is  my ,"  she  mutters,  and  stops.     Her 

face  turns  pale ;  then  suddenly  changes  to  glowing  crimson. 
She  rests  her  left  hand  on  the  rail,  while  the  judge,  as  if 
suddenly  moved  by  a  generous  impulse,  suggests  that  the 
attorney  pause  a  moment,  until  the  deputy  provides  a  c'.iair 
for  the  lady.  She  is  quiet  again.  Calmly  and  modestly,  as 
her  soft,  meaning  eyes  wander  over  the  scene  before  her, 
compelled  to  encounter  its  piercing  gaze,  the  crystal  tears 
leave  their  wet  courses  on  her  blushing  cheeks.  Her  feelings 
are  too  delicate,  too  sensitive,  to  withstand  the  sharp  and 
deadly  poison  of  liberty's  framework  of  black  laws.  She  sees 
her  uncle,  so  kind,  so  fond  of  her  and  her  absent  brother ; 
her  eye  meets  his  in  kindred  sympathy,  imagination  wings 
its  way  through  recollections  of  the  past,  draws  forth  its 
pleasures  with  touching  sensations,  and  fills  the  cup  too  full. 
That  cup  is  the  fountain  of  the  soul,  from  which  trouble 
draws  its  draughts.  She  watches  her  uncle  as  he  turns 
toward  the  children ;  she  knows  they  are  his  ;  she  feels  how 
much  he  loves  them. 

The  attorney — the  man  of  duty  -is  somewhat  affected. 
"  I  have  a  duty  to  perform,"  he  says,  looking  at  the  court, 


A  FATHER'S  TRIALS.  243 

at  tbe  witness,  at  the  children,  at  the  very  red-faced  clerk, 
at^the  opposing  counsel,  and  anything  within  the  precincts  of 
the  court-room.  We  see  his  lips  move  ;  he  hesitates,  makes 
slight  gesticulations,  turns  and  turns  a  volume  of  Blackstone 
with  his  hands,  and  mutters  something  we  cannot  understand. 
The  devil  is  doing  battle  with  his  heart — a  heart  bound  with 
the  iron  strings  of  the  black  law.  At  length,  in  broken  accents, 
we  catch  the  following  remarks,  which  the  learned  gentleman 
thinks  it  necessary  to  make  in  order  to  save  his  gallantry  : — 
"  I  am  sorry — extremely  sorry,  to  see  the  witness,  a  lady  so 
touchingly  sensitive,  somewhat  affected ;  but,  nevertheless 
(the  gentleman  bows  to  the  judge,  and  says  the  Court 
will  understand  his  position  !)  it  is  one  of  those  cases  which 
the  demands  of  the  profession  at  times  find  us  engaged  in. 
As  such  we  are  bound,  morally,  let  me  say,  as  well  as  legally, 
to  protect  the  interests  of  our  clients.  In  doing  so,  we  are 
often  compelled  to  encounter  those  delicate  irregularities 
to  which  the  laws  governing  our  peculiar  institutions  are 
liable.  I  may  say  that  they  are  so  interwoven  with  our 
peculiar  institution,  that  to  act  in  accordance  with  our  duty 
makes  it  a  painful  task  to  our  feelings.  We —  I  may  appeal 
to  the  court  for  corroboratiou — can  scarcely  pursue  an  ana- 
Ivsation  of  these  cases  without  pain ;  I  may  say,  remorse  of 
conscience."  Mr.  Petterwester,  for  such  is  his  name,  is 
evidently  touched  with  that  sense  of  shame  which  the-  dis 
closures  of  the  black  system  bring  upon  his  profession.  This 
is  aided  by  the  fascinating  appearance  of  the  witness  on  the 
stand.  It  is  irresistible  because  it  is  at  variance  with  those 
legal  proceedings,  those  horrors  of  southern  jurisprudence, 
which  he  is  pressing  for  the  benefit  of  his  clients.  Again  he 
attempts  to  put  another  question,  but  is  seized  with  a 
tremor;  he  blushes,  is  nervous  and  confused,  casts  a  doubting 
look  at  the  judge.  That  functionary  is  indeed  very  grave — 
unmoved.  The  responsibility  of  the  peculiar  institution 
HO  rely  hardened  the  war  of  heart  against  head  that  was 
waging  among  the  learned  gentlemen  ;  but  the  institution 
must  be  preserved,  for  its  political  power  works  wonders,  and 
its  legal  power  is  wondrously  curious.  "  Please  tell  the 
court  and  jury  what  you  know  about  the  relation  in  which 
these  children  stand  to  the  gentleman  who  asserts  their 
freedom,  dear  madam  ?  We  will  not  trouble  you  with 
questions ;  make  a  statement,"  says  Mr.  Petterwester,  with 


A  FATHER  S  TRIALS. 


great  sincerity  of  manner.  Indeed,  Mr.  Petterwester  has 
been  highly  spoken  of  among  the  very  oldest,  most  respec 
table,  and  best  kind  of  female  society,  for  his  gallantry. 

The  brother  opposite,  a  small  gentleman,  with  an  exceed 
ingly  studious  countenance,  dressed  in  shining  black,  and  a 
profusion  of  glossy  hair  falling  upon  his  shoulders,  rises  with 
great  legal  calmness,  and  objects  to  the  manner  of  procedure, 
describing  it  as  contrary  to  the  well-established  rules  of  the 
bar.  The  court  interpolates  a  few  remarks,  and  then  inti 
mates  that  it  very  seriously  thinks  gentlemen  better 
waive  the  points,  —better  come  to  an  understanding  to  let  the 
lady  make  her  statements  !  Courtesy  entitles  her,  as  a  lady, 
to  every  respect  and  consideration.  The  gentlemen,  having 
whispered  a  few  words  together,  bow  assent  to  the  high 
functionary's  intimation. 

Franconia  proceeds.  She  asserts  that  Hugh  Marston 
(pointing  to  him)  is  her  uncle  ;  that  she  -knows  little  or 
nothing  of  his  business  affairs,  cannot  tell  why  her  brother 
left  the  country  so  suddenly  ;  she  knew  Clotilda  and  Ellen 
Juvarna,  mothers  of  the  children.  They  never  were  consi 
dered  among  the  property  of  the  plantation.  Her  short  story 
is  told  in  touching  tones.  The  learned  and  gallant  attorney, 
esteeming  it  indispensable,  puts  a  question  or  two  as  to 
whether  anything  was  ever  said  abont  selling  them  in  con 
sequence  of  certain  jealousies.  Before  the  brother  can 
object,  she  answers  them  evasively,  and  the  testimony 
amounts  to  just  no  testimony  at  all.  The  court,  bowing 
respectfully,  informs  the  lady  she  can  get  down  from  the 
stand. 

The  next  witness  called  is  Mrs.  Rosebrook.  This  good 
and  benevolent  lady  is  more  resolute  and  determined.  The 
gentlemen  of  the  bar  find  her  quite  clever  enough  for  them. 
Approaching  the  stand  with  a  firm  step,  she  takes  her  place 
as  if  determined  upon  rescuing  the  children.  Her  answers 
come  rather  faster  than  is  compatible  with  the  dignity  of 
the  learned  gentlemen  of  the  bar.  She  knows  Marston. 
knows  Fraucouia,  knows  the  old  plantation,  has  spent  many 
happy  hours  upon  it,  is  sorry  to  see  the  old  proprietor  reduced 
to  this  state  of  things.  She  knows  the  two  children, — dear 
creatures, — has  always  had  a  kindly  feeling  for  them  ;  knew 
their  poor  mothers,  has  befriended  them  since  Marston's 
troubk-'s  begun.  She  always— her  large,  loving  eyes  glowing 


A  FATHER'S  TRIALS.  245 

with  the  kindness  of  her  soul—heard  Marston  say  they  were 
just  as  free  as  people  could  be,  and  they  should  be  free,  too ! 
Some  people  did'nt  look  at  the  moral  obligation  of  the 
thing.  Here,  the  good  lady,  blushing,  draws  the  veil  over 
her  face.  There  is  something  more  she  would  like  to  dis 
close  if  modesty  did  not  forbid. 

"  Nothing  direct  in  such  testimony,  your  honour  will 
perceive !"  says  Mr.  Petterwester,  directing  himself  to  the 
judge. 

"  Is  there  any  question  with  regard  to  the  father  of  the 
children  ?"  enquires  his  honour,  again  placing  his  hand  to 
his  ear  and  leaning  forward  inquisitively.  His  honour  sud 
denly  forgot  himself. 

"Ah,  ha'h,  he — em!  The  question,  so  buried  under  a 
mountain  of  complexity,  requires  very  nice  legal  discrimi 
nation  to  define  it  properly.  However,  wre  must  be  governed 
by  distinct  pleadings,  and  I  think  that,  in  this  case,  this 
specific  question  is  not  material ;  nor  do  my  brother  col 
leagues  of  the  Bench  think  it  would  be  advisable  to  establish 
such  questions,  lest  they  affect  the  moral  purity  of  the 
atmosphere  we  live  in." 

"  If  your  honour  will  permit  it,  I  may  say  it  will  only  be 
necessary  in  this  case  to  establish  the  fact  of  property  exist 
ing  in  the  mothers.  That  will  settle  the  whole  question ; 
fathers,  as  you  are  aware,  not  being  embraced  in  the  law 
regulating  this  species  of  property  ;"  the  learned  gentleman 
instructs  the  court. 

His  honour,  rejoining  with  a  few  very  grave  and  very  legal 
remarks,  says  they  look  very  much  alike,  and  are  of  one 
mother.  He  is  a  little  undecided,  however,  takes  another 
good  stare  at  them,  and  then  adds  Ins  glasses,  that  the  affinity 
•nay  be  more  clear.  Turning  again  to  his  book,  he  examines 
his  pages,  vacantly.  A  legal  wag,  who  has  been  watching 
the  trial  for  mere  amusement,  whispering  in  the  ear  of  his 
brother,  insinuates  that  the  presiding  functionary  is  medi 
tating  some  problem  of  speculation,  and  has  forgotten  the 
point  at  issue. 

"No!"  interrupts  Mr.  Petterwester,  "your  honour  is 
curiously  labouring  under  an  error  ;  they  have  two  mothers, 
both  of  the  same  tenour  in  life — that  is— Mr.  Petterwester 
corrects  himself — embodying  the  same  questions  of  pro 


246  A  FATHER'S  TRIALS. 

perty.     The  issue  of  the  case  now  on  is  taken  as  final  over 
the  rest." 

"  Ah  !  bless  me,  now — I — rather — see — into  it.  The 
clerk  will  hand  me  Cobb's  Greorgia  Reports.  A  late  case, 
curiously  serious,  there  recorded,  may  lead  me  to  gather  a 
parallel.  Believe  me,  gentlemen,  my  feelings  are  not  so 
dead — his  honour  addresses  himself  to  the  bar  in  geneml- 
that  I  cannot  perceive  it  to  be  one  of  those  very  delicate 
necessities  of  our  law  which  so  embarrasses  the  gallantry  of 
the  profession  at  times " 

"  Yes !  yer  honour,"  the  attorney  for  the  defence  sud 
denly  interrupts,  "  and  which  renders  it  no  less  a  disgrace  to 
drag  ladies  of  high  rank  into  a  court  of  this  kind ." 

His  honour  can  assure  the  learned  gentleman  that  this 
court  has  very  high  functions,  and  can  administer  justice 
equal  to  anything  this  side  of  divine  power, — his  honour 
interrupts,  indignantly. 

"  The  court  misunderstood  the  counsel, — he  had  no  re 
ference  to  the  unquestioned  high  authority  of  the  tribunal ;  it 
was  only  the  character  of  the  trials  brought  before  it. 
When,  notwithstanding  our  boasts  of  chivalry,  delicate  ladies 
are  dragged  before  it  in  this  manner,  they  must  not  only 
endure  the  painful  tenour  of  the  evidence,  but  submit  to  the 
insolence  of  men  who  would  plunder  nature  of  its  right — 

"  I  shall  claim  the  protection  of  the  court  against  such 
unprofessional  imputations,"  his  brother  of  the  opposite 
interrupts,  rising  and  affecting  an  air  of  indignation.  The 
court,  quite  bewildered,  turns  a  listening  ear  to  his  remarks — 
"  Hopes  the  learned  gentlemen  will  not  disgrace  themselves." 

Order !  order !  order !  demands  the  sheriff,  making  a 
flourish  with  his  sword.  The  spectators,  rising  on  tip-toe, 
express  their  anxiety  to  have  the  case  proceed.  They 
\\hisper,  shake  their  heads,  and  are  heard  to  say  that  it  will 
be  utterly  useless  to  attempt  any  thing  against  the  testimony 
of  Graspum  and  llomescos.  Mr.  Graspum,  in  the  fulness  of 
his  slavish  and  impudent  pedantry,  leeliug  secure  in  the 
possession  of  his  victims,  sits  within  the  bar,  seeming  to  feel 
his  position  elevated  a  few  degrees  above  his  highness  the 
judge. 

"  I  do  hope  the  interposition  of  this  Court  will  not  be 
necessary  in  this  case.  Gentlemen  of  the  learned  proles- 


A  FATHER'S  TRIALS. 

sion  should  settle  those  differences  more  like  gentlemen," 
says  his  honour,  looking  down  upon  his  minions  with  a 
frown  of  contempt. 

"  The  matter  is  one  entirely  of  a  professional  nature,  yer 
honour  !"  responds  the  scion  of  the  law,  quickly,  first 
addressing  himself  to  the  judge,  and  then  to  the  jury.  "  If 
the  testimony  we  hare  already  adduced — direct  as  it  is — be 
not  sufficient  to  establish  the  existence  of  property  in  these 
children  (B-omescos  has  just  whispered  something  in  his  ear) 
•we  will  produce  other  testimony  of  the  most  conclusive 
character.  However,  we  will  yield  all  further  cross-ques 
tioning  the  ladies  ;  and  I  now  suggest  that  they  be  relieved 
from  the  painful  position  of  appearing  before  this  court 
again. 

Mrs.  Rosebrook  descends  from  the  stand  amidst  murmurs 
and  applause.  Some  amount  of  legal  tact  now  ensues  ;  the 
attorney  for  the  prosecution  displays  an  earnestness  amount 
ing  to  personal  interest. 

Here  the  counsel  for  the  defence  steps  forward,  whispers 
to  the  clerk,  and  gives  notice  that  he  shall  call  witnesses 
to  impeach  the  characters  of  Graspum  and  Romescos. 
These  two  high  dignitaries,  sitting  together,  express  the 
utmost  surprise  at  such  an  insinuation.  The  character  of 
neither  is  sacred  material,  nor  will  it  stand  even  in  a 
southern  atmosphere.  They  have  been  pronounced  legally 
impure  many  years  ago. 

Just  at  this  juncture  there  is  quite  an  excitement  in  the 
court-room,  Romescos,  like  a  disfigured  statue,  rises  from 
among  his  legal  friends  and  addresses  the  court  on  the 
independent  principle.  "  Well  now,  Squire,  if  ya'r  goin'  to 
play  that  ar'  lawyer  game  on  a  feller  what  don't  understand 
the  dodge,  I'll  just  put  a  settler  on't ;  I'll  put  a  settler  on't 
what  ya'  won't  get  over.  My  word's  my  honour ;  didn't 
come  into  this  establishment  to  do  swarin'  cos  I  wanted  to ; 
scein'  how,  when  a  feller's  summoned  by  the  Boss  Squire, 
he's  got  to  walk  up  and  tell  the  truth  and  nothin'  shorter. 
I  knows  ya'  don't  feel  right  about  it ;  and  it  kind  a  hurts  a 
feller's  feelins  to  make  property  of  such  nice  young  uns, 
especially  when  one  knows  how  nice  .they've  been  brought 
up.  This  aint  the  thing,  though;  'taint  the  way  to  get 
along  in  the  world  ;  and  seein'  I'm  a  man  of  honour,  and 
wouldn't  do  a  crooked  thing  nohow — " 


248  A  FATHER'S  TRIALS. 

His  honour  the  Sheriff,  being  somewhat  impressed  with 
the  fact  that  Mr.  Romescos  is  rather  transgressing  the  rules 
of  the  court,  interposes.  His  defence  of  his  honour  cannot 
longer  be  tolerated ;  and  yet,  very  much  after  the  fashion  of 
great  outlaws,  who,  when  arraigned  for  their  crimes,  think 
themselves  very  badly  used  men,  Romescos  has  the  most 
exalted  opinion  of  himself ;  never  for  a  moment  entertains 
a  doubt  of  his  own  integrity. 

He  reaches  over  the  bar ;  places  his  lips  to  the  attorney's 
ear ;  is  about  to  whisper  something.  That  gentleman 
quickly  draws  back,  as  if  his  presence  were  repulsive.  Not 
the  least  offended,  Romescos  winks  significantly,  crooks  the 
fore-finger  of  his  right  hand,  and  says — "  something  that'll 
put  the  stopper  on."  The  legal  gentleman  seems  recon 
ciled  ;  listens  attentively  to  the  important  information. 
"All  right !  nothing  more  is  needed,"  he  says,  rising  from 
his  seat,  and  asking  permission  to  introduce  proof  which 
will  render  it  quite  unnecessary  to  proceed  with  anything 
that  may  have  for  its  object  the  impeachment  of  the  wit 
nesses. 

The  attorney  for  the  defence  objects  to  this  mode  of 
procedure;  and  the  judge,  having  sustained  the  objec 
tions,  orders  the  counsel  to  proceed  with  his  witnesses. 
Several  persons,  said  to  be  of  very  high  standing,  are  now 
called.  They  successively  depose  that  they  would  not  be 
lieve  Romescos  nor  Graspum  upon  oath ;  notwithstanding, 
both  may  be  very  honourable  and  respectable  gentlemen. 
Thus  invalidating  the  testimony  of  these  high  functionaries 
of  the  peculiar  institution,  the  gentleman  of  the  prosecution 
has  an  opportunity  of  producing  his  conclusive  proof.  Ro- 
mescod  has  been  seen  passing  him  a  very  suspicious-looking 
document. 

All  attention  is  now  directed  to  the  children  ;  they  sit 
pensively,  unconscious  of  the  dread  fate  hanging  over  them. 
"  What  can  this  testimony  be  ?"  rings  in  whispers  about 
the  court-room.  Some  deep  intrigue  is  going  on ;  it  is  some 
unforeseen  movement  of  the  slave-dealers,  not  comprehended 
by  the  spectators.  Can  the  bond-fide  creditors  be  impli 
cated  ?  Even  Mr.  Scranton  feels  that  his  knowledge  of  the 
philosophy  of  slave  power  is  completely  at  fault. 

"Now,  your  honour,  and  gentlemen  of  the  jury,"  says 
the  gentleman  of  the  prosecution,  "  I  am  fully  aware  of  the 


A  FATHER'S  TRIALS.  249 

painful  suspense  in  which  this  case  has  kept  the  court,  the 
jury,  and  the  very  respectable  persons  I  see  assembled ;  but, 
notwithstanding  the  respectability  and  well-known  position 
of  my  clients  and  witnesses,  the  defence  in  this  case  has 
succeeded  in  expunging  the  testimony,  and  compelling  us  to 
bring  forward  such  proof  as  cannot  be  impeached."  Here 
the  legal  gentleman  draws  from  .his  pocket  a  stained  and 
coloured  paper,  saying,  "  Will  the  gentlemen  of  the  jury  be 
kind  enough  to  minutely  examine  that  instrument."  He 
passes  it  to  the  foreman. 

"  "What  is  the  purport  of  the  instrument  ?"  his  honour 
enquires. 

"  The  bill  of  sale,  your  honour." 

Foreman,  has  examined  it  satisfactorily ;  passes  it  to 
several  of  his  fellows.  All  are  satisfied.  He  returns  it  to 
the  learned  gentleman.  That  very  important  and  chivalrous 
individual  throws  it  upon  the  table  with  great  self-confi 
dence. 

His  honour  would  like  to  scan  over  its  details.  It  is 
passed  to  the  little  fat  clerk,  and  by  that  gentleman  to  his 
honour.  "Very,  singularly  strong!"  his  honour  says,  giv 
ing  his  head  a  very  wise  shake. 

"  "When  the  court  gets  through,"  says  the  advocate  for 
the  defence,  rising  and  placing  his  hand  on  the  clerk's 
desk. 

"The  gentleman  can  examine,"  replies  the  court,  passing 
it  coldly  to  the  Sheriff,  who  politely  forwards  it. 

He  turns  it  and  turns  it ;  reads  it  slowly  ;  examines  the 
dates  minutely.  "  How  did  the  prosecution  come  in  pos 
session  of  this  document  P" 

His  brother  of  the  law  objects,  "  That's  not  an  admissible 
question.  If  the  defence  will  institute  an  action  against  the 
parties  for  unlawfully  procuring  it,  we  will  take  great  plea 
sure  in  showing  our  hands.  It  may  be,  however,  well  to 
say,  that  Mr.  Marston  and  Mr.  Graspum  have  always  been 
on  the  most  friendly  terms ;  but  the  former  gentleman 
forgot  to  take  care  of  this  very  essential  document,"  he 
continues,  taking  it  from  the  hand  of  his  professional  bro 
ther,  and  turning  toward  the  spectators,  his  countenance 
glowing  with  exultation.  The  pride  of  his  ambition  is 
served.  The  profession  has  honourably  sustained  itself 
through  the  wonderful  abilities  of  this  learned  brother,  who, 


250  A  FATHER'S  TRIALS. 

holding  the  paper  in  his  hand,  awaits  the  gracious  applause 
of  the  assembled  spectators.  There  is  some  applause,  some 
murmuring,  much  whispering. 

The  court,  in  coldly  measured  words,  hopes  the  audience 
will  evince  no  excitement  pro  or  co1?. 

Some  persons  declare  the  bill  of  sale  a  forgery, — that 
Romescos  has  tried  that  very  same  trick  twice  before. 
Others  say  it  matters  but  little  on  that  score,  -  that  all  the 
law  in  the  country  won't  restrain  Graspum ;  if  he  sets  at  it 
in  good  earnest  he  can  turn  any  sort  of  people  into  pro 
perty.  A  third  whispers  that  the  present  order  of  things 
must  be  changed,  or  nobody's  children  will  be  safe.  Legal 
gentlemen,  not  interested  in  the  suit,  shake  their  heads,  and 
successively  whisper,  "  The  prosecution  never  came  by  that 
bill  of  sale  honestly."  Creditors,  not  parties  to  this  suit, 
and  brokers  who  now  and  then  do  something  in  the  trade 
of  human  beings,  say,  "  If  this  be  the  way  Marston's  going 
to  play  the  dodge  with  his  property,  we  will  see  if  there  be 
not  some  more  under  the  same  shaded  protection." 

"  Will  the  counsel  for  the  defence  permit  his  client  to 
inspect  this  instrument  ?"  says  the  learned  gentleman, 
passing  it  across  the  table. 

Marston's  face  flushes  with  shame  ;  he  is  overcome  ;  he 
extends  his  trembling  hand  and  takes  the  fatal  document. 
It  is,  to  him,  his  children's  death-warrant.  A  cloud  of  dark 
ness  overshadows  his  hopes  ;  he  would  question  the  signa 
ture,  but  the  signer,  Silenus,  is  dead, — as  dead  as  the  justice 
of  the  law  by  which  the  children  are  being  tried.  And 
there  is  the  bond  attached  to  it!  Again  the  thought 
flashed  through  his  mind,  that  he  had  sold  Ellen  Juvarna 
to  Elder  Pemberton  Praiseworthy.  However  much  he 
might  struggle  to  save  his  children — however  much  a  fa 
ther's  obligations  might  force  themselves  upon  him — how 
ever  much  he  might  acknowledge  them  the  offspring  of  his 
own  body,  they  were  prope.rty  in  the  law — property  in  the 
hands  of  Graspum  ;  and,  with  the  forethought  of  that 
honourable  gentleman  opposed  to  him— as  it  evidently  was— 
his  efforts  and  pleadings  would  not  only  prove  futile,  but 
tend  to  expose  Lorenzo's  crime. 

"The  philosophy  of  the  thing  is  coming  out,  just  as  I  said 
— precisely,"  ejaculates  Mr.  Scranton,  raising  his  methodical 
eyes,  and  whispering  to  a  legal  gentleman  who  sits  at  his 
right. 


•<fcf     A  FATHER'S  TRIALS.  251 

"  Serious  philosophy,  that  embraces  and  sanctions  the  sale 
of  such  lovely  children, — making  property  of  one's  children 
against  his  wishes !  I'm  a  great  Southern  rights  man,  but 
this  is  shaving  the  intermixture  a  little  too  close,"  rejoins 
the  other,  casting  a  solicitous  look  at  Marston,  who  has 
been  intently  and  nervously  examining  the  bill  of  sale. 

"Any  objections  to  make  to  it?"  says  the  learned  gen 
tleman,  bowing  politely  and  extending  his  hand,  as  he  con 
cludes  by  inquiring  how  it  happened,  in  the  face  of  such  an 
array  of  evidence,  that  he  sold  the  girl,  Ellen  Juvarna  ? 

"  No  objection,  none !"  is  Marston' s  quick  response.  His 
head  droops ;  he  wipes  the  tears  from  his  eyes ;  he  leaves 
the  court  in  silence,  amid  murmurs  from  the  crowd.  The 
female  witnesses  left  before  him  ;  it  was  well  they  did  so. 

That  this  is  the  original  bill  of  sale,  from  one  Silenus  to 
Hugh  Marston,  has  been  fully  established.  However  pain 
ful  the  issue,  nothing  remained  but  to  give  the  case  to  the 
jury.  All  is  silent  for  several  minutes.  The  judge  has 
rarely  sat  upon  a  case  of  this  kind.  He  sits  unnerved,  the 
pen  in  his  hand  refusing  to  write  as  his  thoughts  wander 
into  the  wondrous  vortex  of  the  future  of  slavery.  But 
the  spell  has  passed ;  his  face  shades  with  pallor  as  slowly  he 
rises  to  address  the  jury.  He  has  but  few  words  to  say  ; 
they  fall  like  death-knells  on  the  ears  of  his  listeners. 
Some  touching  words  escape  his  hesitating  lips  ;  but  duty, 
enforced  by  the  iron  rod  of  slave  power,  demands  him  to 
sustain  the  laws  of  the  land.  He  sets  forth  the  undisputed 
evidence  contained  in  the  bill  of  sale,  the  unmistakeable 
bond,  the  singular  and  very  high-handed  attempt  to  conceal 
it  from  the  honest  creditors,  and  the  necessity  of  jurymen 
restraining  their  sympathies  for  the  children  while  perform 
ing  a  duty  to  the  laws  of  the  land.  Having  thus  made 
his  brief  address,  he  sits  down ;  the  sheriff  shoulders  his 
tip -staff,  and  the  august  twelve,  with  papers  provided,  are 
marched  into  che  jury-room,  as  the  court  orders  that  the  case 
of  Dunton  v.  Higgins  be  called. 

Five  minutes  have  intervened ;  the  clerk  calling  the  case 
s  interrupted  by  a  knocking  at  the  jury-room  door;  he 
stops  his  reading,  the  door  is  opened,  and  the  sheriff  con 
ducts  his  twelve  gentlemen  back  to  their  seats.  Not  a 
whisper  is  heard  ;  the  stillnc'ps'of  the  tomb  reigns  over  this 
17 


252  A  FATHER'S  TRIALS. 

high  judicial  scene.     The  sheriff  receives  a  packet  of  papers 
from  the  foreman's  hands,  and  passes  them  to  the  clerk. 

"  Gentlemen  of  the  jury  will  please  stand  up,"  says  that 
very  amiable  functionary.  "  Have  you  agreed  on  your  ver 
dict  ?"  The  foreman  bows  assent. 

"  Guilty  or  not  guilty,  gentlemen  ?" 

"  Guilty,"  says  the  former,  in  tones  like  church-yard 
wailings :  "  G-uilty.  I  suppose  that's  the  style  we  must 
render  the  verdict  in  ?"  The  foreman  is  at  a  loss  to  know 
what  style  of  verdict  is  necessary. 

"  Yes,"  returns  the  clerk,  bowing ;  and  the  gentlemen  of 
the  jury  well  complimented  by  the  judge,  are  discharged 
until  to-morrow.  The  attorney  for  the  defence  made  a 
noble,  generous,  and  touching  appeal  to  the  fatherly  twelve ; 
but  his  appeal  fell  like  dull  mist  before  the  majesty  of  slavery. 
Guilty !  O  heavens,  that  ever  the  innocent  should  be  made 
guilty  of  being  born  of  a  mother!  That  a  mother— that 
name  so  holy— should  be  stained  with  the  crime  of  bearing 
her  child  to  criminal  life  ! 

Two  children,  fair  and  beautiful,  are  judged  by  a  jury  of 
twelve — perhaps  all  good  and  kind  fathers,  free  and  enlight 
ened  citizens  of  a  free  and  happy  republic — guilty  of  the 
crime  of  being  born  of  a  slave  mother,  Can  this  inquiring 
jury,  this  thinking  twelve,  feel  as  fathers  only  can  feel  when 
their  children  are  on  the  precipice  of  danger?  Could  they  but 
break  over  that  seeming  invulnerable  power  of  slavery  which 
crushes  humanity,  freezes  up  the  souls  of  men,  and  makes 
the  lives  of  millions  but  a  blight  of  misery,  and  behold  with 
the  honesty  of  the  heart  what  a  picture  of  misery  their 
voice  "  Guilty  !"  spreads  before  these  unfortunate  children, 
how  changed  would  be  the  result  I 

A  judge,  endeared  to  his  own  children  by  the  kindest 
affections,  feels  no  compunction  of  conscience  while  admi 
nistering  the  law  which  denies  a  father  his  own  children — 
which  commands  those  children  to  be  sold  with  the  beasts 
of  the  field!  Mark  the  slender  cord  upon  which  the 
fate  of  these  unfortunates  turns  ;  mark  the  suffering 
through  which  they  must  pass. 

The  hand  on  the  clock's  pale  face  marks  four.  His 
honour  reminds  gentlemen  of  the  bar  that  it  is  time  to  ad 
journ  court.  Court  is  accordingly  adjourned.  The  crowd 


A  FATHER'S  TRIALS.  '253 

disperse  in  silence.     Gentlemen  of  the  legal  profession  are  sat 
isfied  the  majesty  of  the  law  has  been  sustained. 

Hence  the  guilty  children,  scions  of  rights-loving  democracy, 
like  two  pieces  of  valuable  merchandise  judicially  decreed  upon, 
are  led  back  to  prison,  where  they  will  await  sale.  Annette 
has  caught  the  sound  of  "  Guilty  ! " — she  mutters  it  while  be 
ing  taken  home  from  the  court,  in  the  arms  of  an  old  slave. 
May  heaven  forgive  the  guilt  we  inherit  from  a  mother,  in  this 
our  land  of  freedom  ! 


CHAPTER  XXL 

WE  CHANGE  WITH  FORTUNE. 

BUT  a  few  months  have  passed  since  the  popularly  called 
gallant  M'Carstrow  led  the  fair  Franconia  to  the  hyme 
neal  altar ;  and,  now  that  he  has  taken  up  his  residence  in 
the  city,  the  excitement  of  the  honeymoon  is  waning,  and 
he  has  betaken  himself  to  his  more  congenial  associations. 
The  beautiful  Franconia  for  him  had  but  transient  charms, 
which  he  now  views  as  he  would  objects  necessary  to  the 
gratifications  of  his  coarse  passions.  His  feelings  have  not 
been  softened  with  those  finer  associations  which  make  man 
the  kind  patron  of  domestic  life ;  nor  is  his  mind  capable  of 
appreciating  that  respect  for  a  wife  which  makes  her  an 
ornament  of  her  circle.  Saloons,  race-courses,  and  nameless 
places,  have  superior  attractions  for  him :  home  is  become 
but  endurable. 

In  truth,  Franconia,  compelled  to  marry  in  deference  to 
fortune,  finds  she  is  ensnared  into  misfortunes.  M'Carstrow 
(Colonel  by  courtesy)  had  fifteen  hundred  dollars,  cash  down, 
to  pay  for  Clotilda  :  this  sad  grievance  excites  his  feelings, 
inasmuch  as  it  was  all  owing  to  his  wife's  whims,  and  the 
poverty  of  her  relations.     The  verdict  of  the  jury,  recently 
rendered,  was  to  his  mind  a  strictly  correct  one ;  but  he 
cannot  forget  the  insane  manner  in  which  the  responsibility 
was  fastened  upon  him,  and  the  hard  cash — which  might  have 
made  two  handsome  stakes  on  the  turf — drawn  from  his 
pocket.     His  wife's  poverty-stricken  relations  he  now  de 
tests,  and  can  tolerate  them  best  when  farthest  away  from 
him.    But  Franconia  does  not  forget  that  he  is  her  husband  ; 
no,  night  after  night  she  sits  at  the  window  until  midnight, 
waiting  his  return.     Feeble  and  weary  with  anxiety,  she  will 
despatch  a  negro  on  a  hopeless  errand  of  search ;  he,  true  to 
his  charge,  returns  with  the  confidential  intelligence  of  find 
ing   Mas'r  in  a  place  less  reputable  than  it  is  proper  to 
mention.     Such  is  our  southern  society*— \ery  hospitable  in 
language,  chivalrous  in  memory, — base  in  morals !      Some- 


WE  CHANGE  WITH  FORTUNE. 

times  the  gallant  colonel  deems  it  necessary  to  remain  until 
daylight,  lest,  in  returning  by  night,  the  pavement  may  annoy 
his  understanding.  Of  this,  however,  he  felt  the  world 
knew  but  little.  Now  and  then,  merely  to  keep  up  the  luxury 
of  southern  life,  the  colonel  finds  it  gratifying  to  his  feel 
ings,  on  returning  home  at  night,  to  order  a  bed  to  be  made 
for  him  in  one  of  the  yard-houses,  in  such  manner  as  to  give 
the  deepest  pain  to  his  Franconia.  Coarse  and  dissolute,  in 
difference  follows,  cold  and  cutting ;  she  finds  herself  a  mere 
instrument  of  baser  purpose  in  the  hands  of  one  she  knows 
only  as  a  ruffian — she  loathes  !  Thus  driven  under  the  bur 
den  of  trouble,  she  begins  to  express  her  unhappiness,  to 
remonstrate  against  his  associations,  to  plead  with  him 
against  his  course  of  life.  He  jeers  at  this,  scouts  such 
prudery,  proclaims  it  far  beneath  the  dignity  of  his  standing 
as  a  southern  gentleman. 

The  generous  woman  could  have  endured  his  dissipation — 
she  might  have  tolerated  his  licentiousness,  but  his  arbitrary 
and  very  uncalled-for  remarks  upon  the  misfortunes  of  her 
family  are  more  than  she  can  bear.  She  has  tried  to  respect 
him — love  him  she  cannot — and  yet  her  sensitive  nature 
recoils  at  the  thought  of  being  attached  to  one  whose  feelings 
and  associations  are  so  at  variance  with  her  own.  Her  im 
pulsive  spirit  quails  under  the  bitterness  of  her  lot ;  she 
sees  the  dreary  waste  of  trouble  before  her  only  to  envy  the 
happiness  of  those  days  of  rural  life  spent  on  the  old  planta 
tion.  That  she  should  become  fretful  and  unhappy  is  a 
natural  consequence. 

"We  must  invite  the  reader  to  go  with  us  to  M'Carstrow' s 
residence,  an  old-fashioned  wooden  building,  three  stories 
high,  with  large  basement  windows  and  doors,  on  the  south 
side  of  King  Street.  It  is  a  wet,  gloomy  night,  in  the  month  of 
November, — the  wind,  fierce  and  chilling,  has  just  set  in  from 
the  north-east ;  a  drenching  rain  begins  to  fall,  the  ships  in 
the  harbour  ride  ill  at  ease  ;  the  sudden  gusts  of  wind,  sweep 
ing  through  the  narrow  streets  of  the  city,  lighted  here  and 
there  by  the  sickly  light  of  an  old-fashioned  lamp,  bespread  the 
scene  with  drear.  At  a  second-story  window,  lighted  by  a  taper 
burning  on  the  sill,sits  Franconia, alone, waiting  the  return  of 
M'Carstrow.  M'Carstrow  is  enjoying  his  night  orgies  !  He 
cares  neither  for  the  pelting  storm,  the  anxiety  of  his  wife, 
nor  the  sweets  of  home. 


256  WE  CHANGE  WITH  FORTUNE. 

A.  gust  of  wind  shakes  the  house ;  the  windows  rattle  their 
stormy  music  ;  the  cricket  answers  to  the  wailings  of  the 
gale  as  it  gushes  through  the  crevices ;  Franconia's  cares 
are  borne  to  her  husband.  Now  the  wind  subsides, — a  slow 
rap  is  heard  at  the  hall  door,  in  the  basement :  a  female 
servant,  expecting  her  master,  hastens  to  open  it.  Her  mas 
ter  is  not  there  ;  the  wind  has  extinguished  the  flaring  light ; 
and  the  storm,  sweeping  through  the  sombre  arch,spreadsnoise 
and  confusion.  She  runs  to  the  kitchen,  seizes  the  globular 
lamp,  and  Boon  returns,  frightened  at  the  sight  presented  in 
the  door.  Masteris  not  there — it  is  the  lean  figure  of  a  strange 
old  "  nigger,"  whose  weather-worn  face,  snowy  with  beard 
and  wrinkled  with  age,  is  lit  up  with  gladness.  He  has  a  warm 
soul  within  him, — a  soul  not  unacceptable  to  heaven  !  The 
servant  shrinks  back, — she  is  frightened  at  the  strange  sight 
of  the  strange  old  man.  "  Don'  be  feared,  good  child  ;  Bob 
ain't  bad  nigger,"  says  the  figure,  in  a  guttural  whisper. 

"  An't  da'h  fo'h  notin  good ;  who  is  ye'  ?"  returns  the  girl, 
holding  the  globular  lamp  before  her  shining  black  face. 
Cautiously  she  makes  a  step  or  two  forward,  squinting  at 
the  sombre  figure  of  the  old  negro,  as  he  stands  trembling  in 
the  doorway.  "  Is  my  good  young  Miss  wid'n  ?"  he  enquires, 
in  the  same  whispering  voice,  holding  his  cap  in  his  right 
hand. 

"  Beckon  how  ye  bes  be  gwine  out  a  dat  afo'h  Miss  come. 
Yer  miss  don'  lib  in  dis  ouse."  So  saying,  the  girl  is 
about  to  close  the  door  in  the  old  man's  face,  for  he  is 
ragged  and  dejected,  and  has  the  appearance  of  a  "  suspicious 
nigger  without  a  master." 

"  Don'  talk  so,  good  gal ;  ye  don'  know  dis  old  man, — so 
hungry, — most  starved.  I  lub  Miss  Franconia.  Tell  she 
I'ze  here,"  he  says,  in  a  supplicating  tone,  as  the  girl,  regain 
ing  confidence,  scrutinises  him  from  head  to  foot  with  the 
aid  of  her  lamp. 

The  servant  is  about  to  request  he  will  come  inside  that  she 
may  shut  out  the  storm.  Fraukone  knows  old  Daddy  Bob, 
— dat  she  do !"  he  reiterates,  working  his  cap  in  his 
fingers.  The  familiar  words  have  caught  Fruncoma's  ear ; 
she  recognises  the  sound  of  the  old  man's  voice ;  she  springs 
to  her  feet,  as  her  heart  gladdens  with  joy.  She  bounds 
down  the  stairs,  and  to  the  door,  grasps  the  old  man's 
hand,  as  a  fond  child  warmly .  grasps  the  hand  of  a  parent, 


WE  CHANGE  "WITH  FORTUNE.  257 

and  welcomes  him  with  the  tenderness  of  a  sister.  "  Poor— 
my  poor  old  Daddy!"  she  says,  looking  in  his  lace  so 
sweetly,  so  earnestly,  "  where  have  you  come  from  ?  who 
bought  you?  how  did  you  escape?"  she  asks,  in  rapid 
succession.  Holding  his  hand,  she  leads  him  along  the 
passage,  as  he  tells  her.  "  Ah,  missus,  I  sees  hard  times 
since  old  mas'r  lef  de  plantation.  Him  an't  how  he  was 
ven  you  dah."  He  views  her,  curiously,  from  head  to 
foot ;  kisses  her  hand ;  laughs  with  joy,  as  he  was  wont  to 
laugh  on  the  old  plantation. 

"  Faithful  as  ever,  Daddy  ?  You  found  me  out,  and  came 
to  see  me,  didn't  you?"  says  Franconia,  so  kindly,  leading 
him  into  a  small  room  on  the  left  hand  of  the  hall,  where, 
after  ordering  some  supper  for  him,  she  begs  he  will  tell 
her  all  about  his  wayfaring.  It  is  some  minutes  before  Bob 
can  get  an  opportunity  to  tell  Franconia  that  he  is  a  fugitive, 
having  escaped  the  iron  grasp  of  the  law  to  stand  true  to 
old  mas'r.  At  length  he,  in  the  enthusiastic  boundings  of 
his  heart,  commences  his  story. 

"  Nigger  true,  Miss  Franconia — he  mumbles  out — on'e 
gib  'im  chance  to  be.  Ye  sees,  Bob  warn't  gwine  t'  lef 
old  mas'r,  nohow ;  so  I  gin  'ern  da  slip  when'e  come  t'  takes 
'em  fo'h  sell " 

"Then  they  didn't  sell  you,  old  Dad?  That's  good! 
that's  good !  And  Daddy's  cold  and  wet  ?"  she  interrupts, 
anxiously,  telling  the  servant  to  get  some  dry  clothes  for  him. 

"  I  is  dat,  Miss  Frankone.  Han't  ad  nofin  t'  eat  dis  most 
two  days,"  he  returns,  looking  at  her  affectionately,  with  one 
of  those  simple  smiles,  so  true,  so  expressive. 

A  supper  is  soon  ready  for  Daddy,  to  which  he  sits  down 
as  if  he  were  about  to  renew  all  his  former  fondness  and 
familiarity.  "Seems  like  old  times,  don'un,  Miss  Frankone? 
Wish  old  mas'r  war  here,  too,"  says  the  old  man,  putting 
the  bowl  of  coffee  to  his  lips,  and  casting  a  side-look  at  the 
servant. 

Franconia  sits  watching  Trim  intently,  as  if  he  were  a 
child  just  rescued  from  some  impending  danger.  "  Don't 
mention  my  poor  uncle,  Daddy.  He  feels  as  much  interest 
in  you  as  I  do ;  but  the  world  don't  look  upon  him  now 
as  it  once  did " 

"  Neber  mind  :  I  gwine  to  work  fo'  old  mas'r.  It'll  take 
die  old  child  to  see  old  mas'r  all  right,"  replies  the  old  man, 


258  WE  CHANGE  WITH  FORTUNE. 

forgetting  that  he  is  too  old  to  take  care  of  himself,  properly. 
Bob  finishes  his  supper,  rests  his  elbow  on  the  table  and 
his  head  in  his  handj  and  commences  disclosing  his  troubles 
to  Franconia.  He  tells  her  how  he  secreted  himself  in  the 
pine-woods, — how  he  wandered  through  swamps,  waded 
creeks,  slept  on  trunks  of  trees,  crept  stealthily  to  the 
old  mansion  at  night,  listened  for  mas'r's  footsteps,  and 
watched  beneath  the  veranda ;  and  when  he  found  he  was 
not  there,  how  he  turned  and  left  the  spot,  his  poor  heart 
regretting.  How  his  heart  beat  as  he  passed  the  old  familiar 
cabin,  retracing  his  steps  to  seek  a  shelter  in  the  swamp  ; 
how,  when  he  learned  her  residence,  famished  with  hunger, 
he  wended  his  way  into  the  city  to  seek  her  out,  knowing 
she  would  relieve  his  wants. 

"What  vil  da  do  wid  me,  spose  da  cotch  me,  Miss 
ITrankone?"  enquires  the  old  man,  simply,  looking  down 
at  his  encrusted  feet,  and  again  at  his  nether  wardrobe, 
which  he  feels  is  not  just  the  thing  to  appear  in  before 
young  missus. 

"  They  won't  do  anything  cruel  to  you,  Daddy.  You  are 
too  old ;  your  grey  hairs  will  protect  you.  "Why,  Daddy, 
you  would  not  fetch  a  bid  if  they  found  out  who  owned 
you,  and  put  you  up  at  auction  to-morrow,"  she  says, 
with  seeming  unconsciousness.  She  little  knew  how  much 
the  old  man  prided  in  his  value, — how  much  he  esteemed 
the  amount  of  good  work  he  could  do  for  master.  He  shakes 
his  head,  looks  doubtingly  at  her,  as  if  questioning  the 
sincerity  of  her  remark. 

"  Just  get  Daddy  Bob — he  mutters — a  badge,  den  'e  show 
missus  how  much  work  in  'urn." 

"  Prauconia  promises  to  comply  with  his  request,  and, 
with  the  aid  of  a  friend,  will  intercede  for  him,  and  procure 
for  him  a  badge,  that  he  may  display  his  energies  for  the 
benefit  of  old  mas'r.  This  done,  she  orders  the  servant  to 
show  him  his  bed  in  one  of  the  "yard  houses  ;"  bids  the 
old  man  an  affectionate  good  night,  retires  to  her  room, 
and  watches  the  return  of  her  truant  swain. 

There,  seated  in  an  arm-chair,  she  waits,  and  waits,  and 
waits,  hope  and  anxiety  recording  time  as  it  passes.  The 
servant  has  seen  Daddy  safe  in  his  room,  and  joins  her  missus, 
where,  by  the  force  of  habit,  she  coils  herself  at  her  feet, 
and  sleeps.  She  has  not  long  retrained  in  this  position  when 


WE  CHANGE  WITH  FORTUNE.  259 

loud  singing  breaks  upon  her  ear  ;  louder  and  louder  it 
vibrates  through  the  music  of  the  storm,  and  approaches. 
Now  she  distinctly  recognises  the  sharp  voice  of  M' Cars- 
trow,  which  is  followed  bj  loud  rappings  at  the  door  of 
the  basement  hall.  M'Carstrow,  impatiently,  demands 
entrance.  The  half-sleeping  servant,  startled  at  the  noise, 
springs  to  her  feet,  rubs  her  eyes,  bounds  down  the  stairs, 
seizes  the  globular  lamp,  and  proceeds  to  open  the  door. 
Franconia,  a  candle  in  her  hand,  waits  at  the  top  of  the 
stairs.  She  swings  back  the  door,  and  there,  bespattered 
with  mud,  face  bleeding  and  distorted,  and  eyes  glassy, 
stands  the  chivalrous  M'Carstrow.  He  presents  a  sorry 
picture ;  mutters,  or  half  growls,  some  sharp  imprecations ; 
makes  a  grasp  at  the  girl,  falls  prostrate  on  the  floor. 
Attempting  to  gain  his  perpendicular,  he  staggers  a  few 
yards — the  girl  screaming  with  fright — and  groans  as  his 
face  again  confronts  the  tiles.  To  make  the  matter  still 
worse,  three  of  his  boon  companions  follow  him,  and,  almost 
in  succession,  pay  their  penance  to  the  floor,  in  an  inde 
scribable  catacomb. 

"  I  tell  you  what,  Colonel !  if  that  nigger  gal  a'  yourn 
don't  stand  close  with  her  blazer  we'll  get  into  an  all-fired 
snarl,"  says  one,  endeavouring  to  extricate  himself  and 
regain  his  upright.  After  sundry  ineffectual  attempts, 
surging  round  the  room  in  search  of  his  hat,  which  is  being 
very  unceremoniously  transformed  into  a  muff  beneath  their 
entangled  extremes,  he  turns  over  quietly,  saying, 
"  There's  something  very  strange  about  the  floor  of  this 
establishment, — it  don't  seem  solid  ;  'pears  how  there's  ups 
and  downs  in  it."  They  wriggle  and  twist  in  a  curious 
pile ;  endeavour  to  bring  their  knees  out  of  "  a  fix" — to  free 
themselves  from  the  angles  which  they  are  most  unmathe- 
matically  working  on  the  floor.  "Working  and  twisting, — 
now  staggering,  and  again  giving  utterance  to  the  coarsest 
language, — one  of  the  gentry — they  belong  to  the  sporting 
world— calls  loudly  for  the  colonel's  little  'oman.  Regaining 
his  feet,  he  makes  indelicate  advances  towards  the  female 
servant,  who,  nearly  pale  with  fright— a  negro  can  look  pale — 
runs  to  her  mistress  at  the  top  of  the  stairs. 

He  misses  the  frightened  maid,  and  seats  himself  on  the 
lowest  step  of  the  stairs.  Here  he  delivers  a  sort  of  half- 
musical  soliloquy,  like  the  following :  "  Gentlemen !  this 


260  WE  CHANGE  WITH  FORTUNE. 

kind  a'  thing  only  happens  at  times,  and  isn't  just  the 
square  thing  when  yer  straight ;  but — seein'  how  southern 
life  will  be  so — when  a  body  get's  crooked  what's  got  a 
wife  what  don't  look  to  matters  and  things,  and  never  comes 
to  take  care  on  a  body  when  he's  done  gone,  he  better  shut 
up  shop.  Better  be  lookin'  round  to  see  what  he  caji 
scare  up !" 

Franconia  holds  the  flaring  light  over  the  stairs  :  pale  and 
death-like,  she  trembles  with  fear,  every  moment  expecting 
to  see  them  ascend. 

"  I  see  the  colonel's  'oman !  yander  she  is  ;  she  what 
was  imposed  on  him  to  save  the  poverty  of  her  folks.  The 
M'Carstrows  know  a  thing  or  two :  her  folks  may  crawl 
under  the  dignity  of  the  name,  but  they  don't  shell  under 
the  dignity  of  the  money — they  don't !"  says  a  stalwart 
companion,  attempting  to  gain  a  position  by  the  side  of  his 
fellow  on  th ,:  steps.  lie  gives  a  leering  wink,  contorts 
his  face  into  a  dozen  grimaces,  stares  vacantly  round  the  hall 
(slidiug  himself  along  on  his  hands  and  knees),  hia  glassy 
eyes  inflamed  like  balls  of  fire.  "  It'll  be  all  square  soon," 
he  growls  out. 

The  poor  affrighted  servant  again  attempts — having 
descended  the  stairs — to  relieve  her  master ;  but  the 
crawling  creature  ha?  regained  his  feet.  He  springs  upon 
her  like  a  fiend,  utters  a  fierce  yell,  and,  snatching  the  lamp 
from  her  hand,  dashes  it  upon  the  tiles,  spreading  the  frac 
tured  pieces  about  the  hall.  Wringing  herself  from  his 
grasp,  she  leaves  a  portion  of  her  dress  in  his  bony  hand, 
and  seeks  shelter  in  a  distant  part  of  the  hall.  Holding  up 
the  fragment  as  a  trophy,  he  staggers  from  place  to  place, 
making  hieroglyphics  on  the  wall  with  his  fingers.  His 
misty  mind  searches  for  some  point  of  egress.  Confronting 
(rather  uncomfortably)  hat  stands,  tables,  porcelains,  and 
other  hall  appurtenances,  he  at  length  shuffles  his  way 
back  to  the  stairs,  where,  as  if  doubting  his  bleered  optics, 
he  stands  some  moments,  swaying  to  and  fro.  His  hat 
again  falls  from  his  head,  and  his  body,  following,  lays  its 
lumbering  length  on  the  stairs.  Happy  fraternity  !  how  use 
ful  is  that  body  !  Hia  companion,  laying  his  muddled  head 
upon  it,  says  it  will  serve  for  a  pillow.  "  E'ke — hum — 
spose  'tis  so?  I  reckon  howr  I'm  some — ec !  eke ! — some 
where  or  nowhere;  aint  we,  Joe?  It's  a  funny  house, 


WE  CHANGE  WITH  FORTUNE.  261 

fellers,"  he  continues  to  soliloquise,  laying  his  arm  affec 
tionately  over  his  companion's  neck,  arid  again  yielding  to 
the  caprice  of  his  nether  limbs. 

The  gentlemen  will  now  enjoy  a  little  refreshing  sleep  ;  to 
further  which  enjoyment,  they  very  coolly  and  uncere 
moniously  commence  a  pot-pourri  of  discordant  snoring. 
This  seems  of  grateful  concord  for  their  boon  companions,  who 
-forming  an  equanimity  of  good  feeling  on  the  floor  -join  in. 

The  servant  is  but  a  slave,  subject  to  her  owner's  will ;  she 
dare  not  approach  him  while  in  such  an  uncertain  condition. 
Franconia  cannot  intercede,  lest  his  companions,  strangers  to 
her,  and  having  the  appearance  of  low-bred  men,  taking  ad 
vantage  of  M'Carstrow's  besotted  condition,  make  rude 
advances.  M'Carstrow,  snoring  high  above  his  cares,  will 
take  his  comfort  upon  the  tiles. 

The  servant  is  supplied  with  another  candle,  which,  at 
Franconia's  bidding,  she  places  in  a  niche  of  the  hall.  It  will 
supply  light  to  the  grotesque  sleepers,  whose  lamp  has  goneout. 

Franconia  has  not  forgotten  that  M'Carstrow  is  her 
husband  ;  she  has  not  forgotten  that  she  owes  him  a  wife's 
debt  of  kindness.  She  descends  the  stairs  gently,  leans 
over  his  besotted  body,  smooths  his  feverish  brow  with 
her  hand,  and  orders  the  servant  to  bring  a  soft  cushion ; 
which  done,  she  raises  his  head  and  places  it  beneath — so 
gently,  so  carefully.  Her  loving  heart  seems  swelling  with 
grief,  as  compassionately  she  gazes  upon  him  ;  then,  drawing 
a  cambric  handkerchief  from  her  bosom,  spreads  it  so  kindly 
over  his  face.  Woman  !  there  is  worth  in  that  last  little  act. 
She  leaves  him  to  enjoy  his  follies,  but  regrets  their  existence. 
Retiring  to  the  drawing-room,  agitated  and  sleepless,  she 
reclines  on  a  lounge  to  await  the  light  of  morning.  Again 
the  faithful  servant,  endeavouring  to  appease  her  mistress's 
agitation,  crouches  upon  the  carpet,  resting  her  head  on  the 
ottoman  at  Franconia's  feet. 

The  morning  dawns  bright  and  sunny  :  Francouia  has  not 
slept.  She  luia  passed  the  hours  in  watchfulness ;  has 
watched  the  negro  sleeping,  while  her  thoughts  were  rivetted 
to  the  scene  in  the  hall.  She  gets  up,  paces  the  room  from 
the  couch  to  the  window,  and  sits  down  again  undecided,  un 
resolved.  Taking  Diana — such  is  the  servant's  name — by 
the  hand,  she  wakes  her,  and  sends  her  into  the  hall  to 
ascertain  the  condition  of  the  sleepers.  The  metamorphosed 


262  WE  CHANGE  WITH  PORTtTNK. 

group,  poisoning  the  air  with  their  reeking  breath,  are  still 
enjoying  the  morbid  fruits  of  their  bacchanaliauism.  Quietly, 
coolly,  and  promiscuously,  they  lay  as  lovingly  as  fellows  of 
the  animal  world  could  desire. 

The  servant  returns,  shaking  her  head.  "  Missus,  da'h 
lays  yander,  so  in  all  tixins  dat  no  tellin'  which  most  done 
gone.  Mas'r  seems  done  gone,  sartin  !"  says  the  servant, 
her  face  glowing  with  apprehension. 

The  significant  phrase  alarms  Franconia.  She  repairs  to 
the  hall,  and  commences  restoring  the  sleepers  to  conscious 
ness.  The  gentlemen  are  doggedly  obstinate ;  they  refuse 
to  be  disturbed.  She  recognises  the  face  of  one  whose 
business  it  is  to  reduce  men  to  the  last  stage  of  poverty. 
Her  sensitive  nature  shudders  at  the  sight,  as  she  views 
him  with  a  curl  of  contempt  on  her  lip.  "  Oh,  M'Carstrow, 
— M'Carstrow !"  she  whispers,  and  taking  him  by  the  hand, 
shakes  it  violently.  M'Carstrow,  with  countenance  ghastly 
and  inflamed,  begins  to  raise  his  sluggish  head.  He  sees 
Franconia  pensively  gazing  in  his  face ;  and  yet  he  enquires 
who  it  is  that  disturbs  the  progress  of  his  comforts.  "  Only 
me!"  says  the  good  woman,  soliciting  him  to  leave  his 
companions  and  accompany  her. 

"Oh,  you,  is  it?"  he  replies,  grumblingly,  rising  on  his 
right  elbow,  and  rubbing  his  eyes  with  his  left  hand. 
Wildly  and  vacantly  he  stares  round  the  hall,  as  if  aroused 
from  a  trance,  and  made  sensible  of  his  condition. 

"  Yes,  me — simply  me,  who,  lost  to  your  affections,  is 

made  most  unhappy "  Franconia  would  proceed,  but  is 

interrupted  by  her  muddling  swain. 

"Unhappy!  unhappy!"  says  the  man  of  southern 
chivalry,  making  sundry  irresistible  nods.  "  Propagator  of 
mischief,  of  evil  contentions,  of  peace  annihilators.  Ah ! 
ah !  ah !  Thinking  about  the  lustre  of  them  beggared 
relations.  It  always  takes  fools  to  make  a  fuss  over  small 
things :  an  angel  wouldn't  make  a  discontented  woman 
happy."  Franconia  breaks  out  into  a  paroxysm  of  grief, 
so  unfeeling  is  the  tone  in  which  he  addresses  her.  He  is 
a  southern  gentleman, — happily  not  of  New  England  in  his 
manners,  not  of  New  England  in  his  affections,  not  of  New 
England  in  his  domestic  associations.  He  thinks  Franconia 
very  silly,  and  scouts  with  derision  the  idea  of  marrying  a 
southern  gentleman  who  likes  enjoyment,  and  then  making 


WE  CHANGE  WITH  FORTUNE.  268 

a  fuss  about  it.  He  thinks  she  had  better  shut  up  her 
whimpering,  —  learn  to  be  a  good  wife  upon  southern 
principles. 

"  Husbands  should  be  husbands,  to  claim  a  wife's  respect ; 
and  they  should  never  forget  that  kindness  makes  good 
wives.  Take  away  the  life  springs  of  woman's  love,  and 
what  is  she  ?  "What  is  she  with  her  happiness  gone,  her 
pride  touched,  her  prospects  blasted  ?  What  respect  or 
love  can  she  have  for  the  man  who  degrades  her  to  the  level 
of  his  own  loathsome  companions?"  Franconia  points  to 
those  who  lie  upon  the  floor,  repulsive,  and  reeking  with 
the  fumes  of  dissipation.  "  There  are  your  companions," 
she  says. 

"  Companions  ?"  he  returns,  enquiringly.  He  looks 
round  upon  them  with  surprise.  "  "Who  are  those  fellows 
you  have  got  here  ?"  he  enquires,  angrily. 

"  You  brought  them  to  your  own  home ;  that  home  you 
might  make  happy " 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it !  They  are  some  of  your  d d  disre 
putable  relations." 

"  My  relations  never  violate  the  conduct  of  gentle 
men."  "  No ;  but  they  sponge  on  me.  These  my  compa 
nions  !  looking  at  them  inquisitively  Oh,  no !  Don't 
let  us  talk  about  such  things;  I'ze  got  fifteen  hundred 
dollars  and  costs  to  pay  for  that  nigger  gal  you  were  fool 
enough  to  get  into  a  fit  about  when  we  were  married. 
That's  what  I'ze  got  for  my  good-heartedne'ss."  M'Carstrow 
permits  his  very  gentlemanly  southern  self  to  get  into  a 
rage.  He  springs  to  his  feet  suddenly,  crosses  and  recrosses 
the  hall  like  one  frenzied  with  excitement.  Franconia  is 
frightened,  runs  up  the  stairs,  and  into  her  chamber,  where, 
secreting  herself,  she  fastens  the  door.  He  looks  wistfully  after 
her,  stamping  his  foot,  but  he  will  not  follow.  Too  much  of  a 
polished  gentleman,  he  will  merely  amuse  himself  by 
running  over  the  gamut  of  his  strongest  imprecations.  The 
noise  creates  general  alarm  among  his  companions,  who, 
gaining  their  uprights,  commence  remonstrating  with  him 
on  his  rude  conduct,  as  if  they  were  much  superior  beings. 

"  Now,  colonel,  major, — or  whatever  they  dubbed  ye,  in 
the  way  of  a  title,"  says  one,  putting  his  hand  to  his  hat 
with  a  swaggering  bow ;  "just  stop  that  ar'  sort  a'  nonsense, 
and  pay  over  this  'ere  little  affair  afore  we  gets  into  polite 


SJ64  WE  CHANGE  WITH  FORTUNE. 

etiquette  and  such  things.  When,  to  make  the  expenses,  ye 
comes  into  a  place  like  ours,  and  runs  up  a  credit  score, — 
when  ye  gets  so  lofty  that  ye  can't  tell  fifty  from  five,  we  puts 
a  sealer  on,  so  customers  don't  forget  in  the  morning."  The 
modest  gentleman  presents  to  M'Carstrow's  astonished 
eyes  a  note  for  twenty-seven  hundred  dollars,  with  the 
genuine  signature.  M'Carstrow  takes  it  in  his  hand,  stares 
at  it,  turns  it  over  and  over.  The  signature  is  his  ;  but  he 
is  undecided  about  the  manner  of  its  getting  there,  and 
begins  to  give  expression  to  some  doubt. 

The  gentleman  watches  M'Carstrow  very  cautiously. 
"Straight!  colonel— he  says — just  turn  out  the  shiners,  or, 
to  'commodate,  we'll  let  ye  off  with  a  sprinkling  of  niggers." 
The  colonel  puts  the  fore-finger  of  his  left  hand  to  his 
lips,  and,  with  serious  countenance,  walks  twice  or  thrice 
across  the  hall,  as  if  consulting  his  dignity :  "  Shell  out 
the  niggers  first ;  we'll  take  the  dignity  part  a'ter,"  he 
concludes. 

"I  demand  to  know  how  you  came  in  my  house,"  inter 
rupts  the  colonel,  impatiently.  He  finds  himself  in  very  bad 
company  ;  company  southern  gentlemen  never  acknowledge 
by  daylight. 

"We  brought  you  here!  Anything  else  you'd  like  to 
know  ?  is  the  cool,  sneering  response.  The  gentleman  will 
take  a  pinch  of  snuff;  he  draws  his  fancy  box  from  his 
pocket,  gives  the  cover  a  polite  rap  with  his  finger,  invites 
the  enraged  M'Carstrow  to  "take."  That  gentleman 
shakes  his  head, — declines.  He  is  turning  the  whole  affair 
over  in  his  head,  seems  taking  it  into  serious  consideration. 
Seriously,  he  accepted  their  accommodation,  and  now  finds 
himself  compelled  to  endure  their  painful  presence. 

"I,  I,  I — m,  rather  in  doubt,"  stammers  M'Carstrow, 
fingering  the  little  obligation  again,  turning  it  over  and 
over,  rubbing  his  eyes,  applying  his  glass.  He  sees  nothing 
in  the  signature  to  dispute.  "  I  must  stop  this  kind  of 
fishing,"  he  says;  "don't  do.  It  's  just  what  friend 
Scranton  would  call  very  bad  philosophy.  Gentlemen, 
suppose  you  sit  down ;  we'd  better  consider  this  matter 
a  little.  Han't  got  a  dime  in  the  bank,  just  now." 
M' Cars  trow  is  becoming  more  quiet,  takes  a  philosophical 
view  of  the  matter,  affects  more  suavity.  Calling  loudly  for 
the  negro  servant,  that  personage  presents  herself,  and  is 


WE  CHANGE  WITH  FORTUNB.  265 

ordered  to  bring  chairs  to  provide  accommodation  for  the 
gentlemen,  in  the  hall. 

"  Might  just  as  well  settle  the  matter  in  the  parlour, 
colonel;  t'wont  put  you  out  a  mite,"  the  gambler  suggests, 
with  a  laconic  air.  He  will  not  trouble  M'Carstrow  by 
waiting  for  his  reply.  Ts"o ;  be  leads  the  way,  very  coolly, 
asking  no  odds  of  etiquette  ;  and,  having  entered  the  apart 
ment,  invites  his  comrades  to  take  seats.  The  dignity  and 
coolness  with  which  the  manoeuvre  is  executed  takes  "  Boss" 
M'Carstrow  by  surprise ;  makes  him  feel  that  he  is  merely 
a  dependent  individual,  whose  presence  there  is  not  much 
need  of.  "  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  gents,  I'ze  shaved  my  ac 
counts  at  the  bank  down  to  the  smallest  figure,  have !  but 
there's  an  honourable  consideration  about  this  matter ;  and, 
honour's  honour,  and  I  want  to  discharge  it  somehow — 
niggers  or  cash  !"  The  gentlemen's  feelings  have  smoothed 
down  amazingly.  M'Carstrow  is  entirely  serious,  and  willing 
to  comply. 

The  gentlemen  have  seated  themselves  in  a  triangle,  with 
the  "  done  over"  colonel  in  the  centre. 

"  Well,  niggers  will  do  just  as  well,  provided  they  are 
sound,  prime,  and  put  at  prices  so  a  feller  can  turn  'em  into 
tin,  quick,"  says  the  gentleman,  who  elects  himself  spokes 
man  of  the  party. 

"  Keeps  my  property  in  tall  condition,  but  won't  shove 
it  oif  under  market  quotations,  no  how  !"  M'Carstrow  inter 
rupts,  aa.  the  spokesman,  aifecting  the  nonchalance  of  a 
newly-elected  alderman,  places  his  feet  upon  the  rich 
upholstery  of  a  sofa  close  by.  He  would  enjoy  the  ex 
tremes  of  southern  comfort.  "  Colonel,  I  wish  you  had  a 
more  convenient  place  to  spit,"  rejoins  the  gentleman.  He 
will  not  trouble  the  maid,  however — he  let's  fly  the  noxious 
mixture,  promiscuously  ;  it  falls  from  his  lips  upon  the  soft 
hearth-rug.  "  It  will  add  another  flower  to  the  expensive 
thing,"  he  says,  very  coolly,  elongating  his  figure  a  little 
more.  He  has  relieved  himself,  wondrously.  M'Carstrow 
calls  the  servant,  points  to  the  additional  wreath  on  the 
hearth-rug ! 

"  All  your  nigger  property  as  good-conditioned  as  that 
gal?"  enquires  the  gentleman,  the  others  laughing  at  the 
nicety  of  his  humour.  Eising  from  his  seat  very  deliberately. 


266  WE  CHANGE  WITH  FOBTUNE. 

he  approaches  the  servant,  lays  his  hand  upon  her  neck  and 
shoulders. 

"  JSTot  quite  so  fast,  my  friend:  d — n  it,  gentlemen,  don't 
be  rude.  That's  coming  the  thing  a  little  too  familiar. 
There  is  a  medium  :  please  direct  your  moist  appropriations 
and  your  improper  remarks  in  their  proper  places."  The 
girl,  cringing  heneath  the  ruffian's  hand,  places  the  necessary 
receptacle  at  his  feet. 

The  gentleman  is  offended, — very  much  offended.  He 
thinks  it  beneath  the  expansion  of  his  mind — to  be  standing 
on  aristocratic  nonsense  !  "  Spit  boxes  and  nigger  property 
ain't  the  thing  to  stand  on  about  haristocrats  ;  just  put  down 
the  dimes.  Three  bright  niggers  '11  do  :  turn  'em  out." 

"  Three  of  my  best  niggers !"  ejaculates  the  Colonel. 

"  Nothin'  shorter,  Colonel." 

"  Remember,  gentlemen,  the  market  price  of  such  pro 
perty.  The  demand  for  cotton  has  made  niggers  worth  their 
weight  in  gold,  for  any  purpose.  Take  the  prosperity  of 
our  country  into  consideration,  gentlemen ;  remember  the 
worth  of  prime  men.  The  tip  men  of  the  market  are  worth 
1200  dollars." 

"  Might  as  well  lay  that  kind  a'  financerin  aside,  Colonel. 
What's  the  use  of  living  in  a  free  country,  where  every  man 
has  a  right  to  make  a  penny  when  he  can,  and  talk  so  ? 
Now,  'pears  to  me  faint  no  use  a'  mincing  the  matter;  we 
might  a'  leaked  ye  in  for  as  many  thousands  as  hundreds. 
Seein'  how  ye  was  a  good  customer,  we  saved  ye  on  a  small 
shot.  Better  put  the  niggers  out :  ownin'  such  a  lot,  ye 
won't  feel  it !  Give  us  three  prime  chaps  ;  none  a'  yer  old 
sawbones  what  ye  puts  up  at  auction  when  ther'  worked 
down  to  nothin'." 

M'Carstrow's  powers  of  reasouiug  are  quite  limited  ;  and, 
finding  himself  in  one  of  those  strange  situations  southern 
gentlemen  so  often  get  into,  and  which  not  unfrequently 
prove  as  perplexing  as  the  workings  of  the  peculiar  institution 
itself,  he  seeks  relief  by  giving  an  orderfor  three  prime  fellows. 
They  will  be  delivered  up,  at  the  plantation,  on  the  fol 
lowing  day,  when  the  merchandise  will  be  duly  made  over,  as 
per  invoice.  Everything  is  according  to  style  and  honour;  the 
gentlemen  pledge  their  faith  to  be  gentlemen,  to  leave  no  dis 
honourable  loop-hole  for  creeping  out.  And  now,  having  settled 


WE  CHANGE  WITH  FORTUNE.  267 

the  little  matter,  they  make  M'Carstrow  the  very  best  of  bows, 
desire  to  be  remembered  to  his  woman,  bid  him  good  morn 
ing,  and  leave.  They  will  claim  their  property — three  prune 
men — by  the  justice  of  a  "free-born  democracy." 

M'Carstrow  watches  them  from  the  house,  moralising  over 
his  folly.  They  have  gone !  He  turns  from  the  sight,  ascends 
the  stairs,  and  repairs  to  meet  his  Franconia.  • 

18 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE  VICISSITUDES  OF  A  PREACHER. 

left  Harry,  the  faithful  servant,  whose  ministerial 
functions  had  been  employed  in  elevating  the  souls  of  Mars- 
ton's  property,  being  separated  from  his  wife  and  sold  to 
Mr.  M'Fadden.  M'Fadden  is  a  gentleman — we  do  not 
impugn  the  name,  ;n  a  southern  sense— of  that  class — very 
large  class — who,  finding  the  laws  of  their  own  country  too 
oppressive  for  their  liberal  thoughts,  seek  a  republican's  home 
in  ours.  It  is  to  such  men,  unhappily,  the  vices  of  slavery  are 
open.  They  grasp  them,  apply  them  to  purposes  most  mer 
cenary,  most  vile.  The  most  hardened  of  foreigners — that 
essence  of  degraded  outcasts, — may,  under  the  privileges  of 
slavery,  turn  human  misery  into  the  means  of  making  money. 
He  has  no  true  affiliations  with  the  people  of  the  south, 
nor  can  he  feel  aught  beyond  a  selfish  interest  in  the  pros 
perity  of  the  State ;  but  he  can  be  active  in  the  work  of 
evil.  "With  the  foreigner— we  speak  from  observation — af 
fecting  love  of  liberty  at  home,  it  would  seem,  only  makes 
him  the  greater  tyrant  when  slavery  gives  him  power  to 
execute  its  inhuman  trusts.  Mr.  Lawrence  M'Fadden  is 
one  of  this  description  of  persons ;  he  will  make  a  for 
tune  in  the  South,  and  live  a  gentleman  in  the  North — 
perhaps,  at  home  on  his  own  native  Isle.  Education  he  has 
none  ;  moral  principle  he  never  enjoyed, — never  expects  to. 
He  is  a  tall,  athletic  man,  nearly  six  feet  two  inches  in 
height,  with  extremely  broad,  stooping  shoulder;*,  and  al 
ways  walks  as  if  he  were  meditating  some  speculation.  His 
dress  is  usually  of  southern  red-mixed  homespun. — a  dress 
which  he  takes  much  pride  in  wearing,  in  connection  with  a 
black  brigand  hat,  which  gives  his  broad  face,  projecting 
cheek-bones,  and  blunt  chin,  a  look  of  unraistakeable  sullen- 
ness.  Add  to  this  a  low,  narrow  forehead,  generally  covered 
with  thick  tufts  of  matted  black  hair,  beneath  which  two 
savage  eyes  incessantly  glare,  and,  reader,  you  have  the 
repulsive  personification  of  the  man.  Mr.  M'Fadden  has 


"  Got  a  tall  chap  here,  boys !  Mate  ye 
stand  round  some,  in  pickin'  time ;  and 
can  preach,  too  !  Can  put  in  the  big  licks 
preachin';  and  I'ze  goin'  t'let  'im,  once 
in  a  while.  Goin'  t'have  good  times  on 
my  place,  boys — ha'h !  Got  a  jug  of  whis 
key  to  have  a  fandango,  and  a  preacher 
to  do  it  up  brown  at  t'other  end." 


M'FADDEN  AMUSES  HIS  PEOPLE  WITH  A  FANDANGO. 


THE  VICISSITUDES  OF  A  PBEACHEE.  -269 

bought  a  preacher, — an  article  with  the  very  best  kind  of  a 
soul, — which  he  would  send  to  his  place  in  the  country. 
Having  just  sent  the  article  to  the  rail-road,  he  stands  in  a 
neighbouring  bar-room,  surrounded  by  his  cronies,  who  are 
joining  him  in  a  social  glass,  discussing  the  qualities  of  the 
article  preacher.     "We  are  not  favoured  with  the  point  at 
issue ;    but  we  hear  Mr.   Lawrence  M'Fadden  say,  with 
great  force, — "  Preachers  are  only  good  property  under  cer 
tain  circumstances  ;  and  if  them  circumstances  ain't  just  so, 
it  won't  do  to  buy  'em.      Old  aristocrat  rice  planters  may 
make  a  good  thing  or  two  on  'em,  because  they  can  make 
'em  regulate  the  cummin'  o'  their  property,  and  make  it 
understand  what  the  Lord  says  about  minding  their  masters." 
For  his— Mr.  Lawrence  M'Fadden's— own  part,  he  wouldn't 
give  seven  coppers  for  the  thinking  part  of  any  property, 
having    no    belief   in  that    fashionable   way   of   improv 
ing  its  value.     "  My  preacher  has  been  nicely  packed  up 
and  sent  off  in  advance,"  he  says,  wiping  his  mouth  with 
his  coat  sleeve,  and  smacking  his  lips,  as  he  twirls  his  glass 
upon  the  zinc  counter,  shakes  hands  with  his  friends — they 
congratulate  him    upon  the  good  bargain  in  his  divine — 
and  proceeds  to  the  railroad  depot.      Harry    has  arrived 
nearly  two  hours  in  advance, — delivered  in  good  condition, 
as    stated  in   a  receipt  which  he  holds  in  his   hand,  and 
which   purports  to   be   from   the  baggage-master.     "  Ah ! 
here  you  are,"    says    M'Fadden,   taking  the  paper  from 
Harry's  hand,  as  he  enters  the  luggage-room.     "  Take  good 
care  on  ye, — I  reckon  I  will !"     He  looks  down  upon  him 
with  an   air  of    satisfaction.      The    poor  preacher  —  the 
soul-glowing  property — is  yet  chained,  hand  and  foot.     He 
sits  upon  the  cold  floor,  those  imploring  eyes  swelling  at 
the  thought  that  freedom  only  awaits  him  in  another  world. 
M'Fadden   takes  a  little  flask  from  his  breast  pocket,  and, 
with  a  motion  of  kindness,  draws  the  cork,  passes  it  to  him. 
"  It's  whiskey  !"  he  says  ;  "  take  a  drop — do  ye  good,  old 
feller."     Quietly  the  man  passes  it  to  his  lips,  and  moistens 
his  mouth.     "  No  winking  and  blinking — it's  tip-top  stuff," 
enjoins  M'Fadden  ;  ".don't  get  it  every  day." 

Mr.  M'Fadden  will  take  a  little  himself.  "  Glad  to  find 
ye  here,  all  straight !"  he  mutters,  taking  the  flask  from  his 
mouth.  He  had  returned  the  receipt  to  his  property ;  and, 


270  THE  VICISSITUDES  OF  A  PREACHER. 

having  gratified  his  appetite  a  little,  he  begins  to  take  a 
more  perspective  view  of  his  theological  purchase. 

"Yes,  master;  I  am  here!"  He  again  holds  up  his 
chained  hands,  drops  his  face  upon  his  knees  ;  as  much  as 
to  say,  be  sure  I  am  all  safe  and  sound. 

Looking  at  the  receipt  again,  and  then  at  his  preacher, 
"  Guess  'hain't  made  a  bad  rap  on  ye'  to-day !"  he  ejaculates, 
taking  out  his  pocket-book  and  laying  away  the  precious 
paper  as  carefully  as  if  it  were  a  hundred  dollar  note. 
"  Should  like  to  have  bought  your  old  woman  and  young 
'uns,  but  hadn't  tin  enough.  And  the  way  stock's  up  now, 
ain't  slow  !  Look  up  here,  my  old  buck  !  just  put  on  a  face 
as  bright  and  smooth  as  a  full  moon — no  sulkin'.  Come 
along  here." 

The  manacled  preacher  turns  upon  his  hands,  gets  up  as 
best  he  can— M'Fadden  kindly  assists  by  taking  hold  of  his 
shoulder  —  and  follows  his  purchaser  to  the  platform, — 
like  a  submissive  animal  goaded  to  the  very  flesh,  but 
chained,  lest  it  make  some  show  of  resentment.  "  Good 
heap  o'  work  in  ye',  old  chuck ;  had  a  master  what  didn't 
understand  bringing  on't  out,  though  !"  mutters  M'Fadden, 
as  he  introduces  Harry  to  the  negro  car,  at  the  same  time 
casting  a  look  of  satisfaction  at  the  brakeman  standing  at 
his  left  hand  ready  to  receive  the  freight. 

In  the  car — a  dungeon-like  box  about  ten  feet  square,  the 
only  aperture  for  admitting  light  being  a  lattice  of  about 
eight  inches  square,  in  the  door — are  three  rough  negro 
men  and  one  woman,  the  latter  apparently  about  twenty 
years  of  age. 

"  Got  a  tall  chap  here,  boys !  Make  ye  stand  round 
some,  in  pickin'  time ;  and  can  preach,  too.  M'Fadden 
shakes  his  head  exultingly !  Can  put  in  the  big  licks 
preachin' ;  and  I'ze  goin'  t'  let  'im,  once  in  a  while.  Goin' 
t'  have  good  times  on  my  place,  boys — ha'h !  Got  a  jug  of 
whiskey  to  have  a  fandango  when  ye  gits  home.  Got  it 
somewhere,  I  knows."  Mr.  M'Fadden  exults  over  the 
happy  times  his  boys  have  at  home.  He  shakes  himself  all 
over,  like  a  polar  bear  just  out  of  the  water,  and  laughs 
heartily.  He  has  delivered  himself  of  something  that 
'makes  everybody  else  laugh  ;  the  mania  has  caught 
upon  his  own  subtle  self.  The  negroes  laugh  in  expres- 


THE 'VICISSITUDES  OF  A  PREACHER.  271 

sive  cadences,  and  shrug  their  shoulders  as  Mr.  M'Eadden 
continues  to  address  them  so  sportively,  so  familiarly. 
Less  initiated  persons  might  have  formed  very  satisfac 
tory  opinions  of  his  character.  He  takes  a  peep  under  one 
of  the  seats,  and  with  a  rhapsody  of  laughter  draws  forth 
a  small  jug.  "  You  can't  come  the  smuggle  over  me,  boys ! 
I  knew  ye  had  a  shot  somewhere,"  he  exclaims.  At  his 
bidding,  the  woman  hands  him  a  gourd,  from  which  he  very 
deliberately  helps  himself  to  a  stout  draught. 

"  Sit  down  here ! — Isaac,  Abraham,  Daniel,  or  whatever 
yer  name  isj — Mr.  M'Fadden  addresses  himself  to  his 
preacher.  Ye'll  get  yer  share  on't  when  ye  gits  to  my 
place."  He  sets  the  jug  down,  and  passes  the  gourd  back, 
saying:  "What  a  saucy  hussy  ye  are  !'?  slapping  the 
woman's  black  shoulder  playfully.  "  Give  him  some — won't 
ye',  boys  ?"  he  concludes. 

Mr.  M'Fadden  (the  cars  are  not  yet  ready  to  start,  but 
the  depot  is  thronging  with  travellers,  and  the  engine  is 
puffing  and  snorting,  as  the  driver  holds  his  hand  on  the 
throttle,  and  the  stoker  crams  with  pitch  pine  knots  the 
iron  steed  of  fiery  swiftness)  will  step  out  and  take  the 
comfort  of  his  cigar.  He  pats  his  preacher  on  the  shoulder, 
takes  oif  his  shackles,  rubs  his  head  with  his  hand,  tells  the 
boys  to  keep  an  eye  on  him.  "  Yes,  mas'r,"  they  answer, 
in  tones  of  happy  ignorance.  The  preacher  must  be  jolly, 
keep  on  a  bright  face,  never  mind  the  old  gal  and  her  young 
'uns,  and  remember  what  a  chance  he  will  have  to  get 
another.  He  can  have  two  or  more,  if  he  pleases ;  so  says 
his  very  generous  owner. 

Mr.  M'Eadden  shakes  hands  with  his  friends  on  the 
platform,  smokes  his  cigar  leisurely,  mingles  with  the  crowd 
importantly,  thinking  the  while  what  an  unalloyed  paragon 
of  amiability  he  is.  Presently  the  time-bell  strikes  its 
warning ;  the  crowd  of  passengers  rush  for  the  cars ;  the 
whistle  shrieks ;  the  exhaust  gives  forth  its  gruff  snorts,  the 
connections  clank,  a  jerk  is  felt,  and  onward  bounds— mighty 
in  power,  but  controlled  by  a  finger's  slightest  touch— the 
iron  steed,  dragging  its  curious  train  of  living  merchandise. 

M'Fadden  again  finds  his  way  to  the  negroes'  car,  where, 
sitting  down  in  front  of  his  property,  he  will  take  a  bird's- 
eye  view  of  it.  It  is  very  fascinating  to  a  man  who  loves 
the  quality  of  such  articles  as  preachers.  He  will  draw  hia 


272  THK  VICISSITUDES  Off  A.  PKKACHER. 

seat  somewhat  closer  to  the  minister;  his  heart  bounds 
with  joy  at  the  prime  appearance  of  his  purchase.  Reach 
ing  out  his  hand,  he  takes  the  cap  from  Harry's  head, 
throws  it  into  the  woman's  lap  ;  again  rubs  his  hair  into  a 
friz.  Thus  relieved  of  his  pleasing  emotions,  he  will  pass 
into  one  of  the  fashionable  cars,  and  take  his  place  among 
the  aristocrats. 

"  Boss  mighty  funny  when  'e  come  t'  town,  and  git  just 
BO  'e  don't  see  straight :  wish  'e  so  good  wen  'e  out  da'h 
on  de  plantation  yander,"  ejaculates  one  of  the  negroes, 
who  answers  to  the  name — Joe  !  Joe  seems  \f>  have  charge 
of  the  rest ;  but  he  watches  M'Fadden's  departure  with  a 
look  of  sullen  hatred. 

"  Hard  old  Boss  on  time — an't  he,  boys  ?"  enquires 
Harry,  as  an  introduction  to  the  conversation. 

"  Won't  take  ye  long  t'  find  'um  out,  I  reckon  !  Git 
nigger  on  de  plantation  'e  don't  spa'  him,  nohow,"  rejoins 
another. 

"  Lor',  man,  if  ye  ain't  tough  ye'll  git  used  up  in  no 
time,  wid  him !"  the  woman  speaks  up,  sharply.  Then, 
pulling  her  ragged  skirts  around  her,  she  casts  a  sympathis 
ing  look  at  Harry,  and,  raising  her  hand  in  a  threatening 
attitude,  and  shaking  it  spitefully  in  the  direction  M'Padden 
has  go;ie,  says  : — "  If  only  had  dat  man,  old  Boss,  where 
'um  could  revenge  'um,  how  a'  would  make  'um  suffer !  He 
don'  treat  'e  nigger  like  'e  do  'e  dog.  If  'tw^arn't  fo'h 
Buckra  I'd  cut 'e  troat,  sartin."  This  ominous  expression, 
delivered  with  such  emphasis,  satisfies  Harry  that  he  has 
got  into  the  hands  of  a  master  very  unlike  the  kind  and 
careless  Marston. 

Onward  the  cars  speed,  with  clanking  music  making  din 
as  they  go.  One  of  the  negroes  will  add  something  to 
change  the  monotony.  Fumbling  beneath  the  seats  for 
some  minutes,  he  draws  forth  a  little  bag,  carefully  unties 
it,  and  presents  his  favourite  violin.  Its  appearance 
gladdens  the  hearts  of  his  comrades,  who  welcome  it  with 
smiling  faces  and  loud  applause.  The  instrument  is  of  the 
most  antique  and  original  description.  It  has  only  two 
strings ;  but  Simon  thinks  wonders  of  it,  and  would  not 
swap  it  for  a  world  of  modern  fiddles,  what  don't  touch  the 
heart  with  their  music.  He  can  bring  out  tremendous 
waitings  with  these  two  strings ;  such  as  will  set  the  whole 


THE  VICISSITUDES  Of  A  PBEACHEB.  273 

plantation  dancing.  He  puts  it  through  the  process  of 
tuning,  adding  all  the  scientific  motions  and  twists  of  an 
Italian  first-fiddling  artiste.  Simon  will  moisten  its  ears 
by  spitting  on  them,  which  he  does,  turning  and  twist 
ing  himself  into  the  attitudes  of  a  pompous  maestro. 
But  now  he  has  got  it  in  what  he  considers  the  very  nick  of 
tune ;  it  makes  his  face  glow  with  satisfaction.  "  Jest — 
lef — 'um  cum,  Simon;  — big  and  strong!"  says  Joe, 
beginning  to  keep  time  by  slapping  his  hands  on  his  knees. 
And  such  a  sawing,  such  a  scraping,  as  he  inflicts,  never 
machine  of  its  kind,  ancient  or  modern,  got  before.  Simon 
and  his  companions  are  in  ecstasies  ;  but  such  cross-grained, 
such  painful  jingling  of  sounds!  Its  charm  is  irresistible 
with  the  negro ;  he  mustn't  lose  a  note  of  the  tune ;  every 
creak  is  exhausted  in  a  break-down  dance,  which  the  motion 
of  the  "  Jim  Crow "  car  makes  more  grotesque  by  every 
now  and  then  jolting  them  into  a  huddle  in  one  corner. 

Mr.  M'Fadden  has  been  told  that  his  property  Sre 
having  a  lively  time,  and  thinks  he  will  leave  his  aristocratic 
friends,  and  go  to  see  it ;  here  he  is  followed  by  several  young 
gentlemen,  anxious  to  enjoy  the  hilarity  of  the  scene. 

"All  my  property, — right  prime,  isn't  it?"  says 
M'Fadden,  exultingly,  nudging  one  of  the  young  men  on 
the  shoulder,  as  he,  returning,  enters  the  car.  The  gentle 
man  nods  assent,  sits  down,  and  coolly  lights  his  cigar. 
"  Good  thing  to  have  a  fiddler  on  a  plantation !  I'd  rather 
have  it  than  a  preacher ;  keeps  the  boys  together,  and 
makes  'um  a  deal  better  contented,"  he  adds,  beginning  to 
exhale  the  fumes  from  his  weed. 

"  Yes  ! — and  ye  sees,  fellers,  how  I'ze  bought  a  parson, 
too.  Can  do  the  thing  up  brown  now,  boys,  I  reckon," 
remarks  the  happy  politician,  slapping  his  professional  gen 
tleman  on  the  knee,  and  laughing  right  heartily. 

Turning   to  Harry    with  a   firm  look,   he   informs    the 

fentlemen  that  "  this  critter's  kind  o    got  the  sulks,  a'cos 
Lomescos — he  hates   Eomescos — has    bought    his   wench 
and  young   'uns.     Take  that  out   on  him,  at  my  place," 
he  adds. 

The  dancing  continues  right  merrily.  One  of  the  young 
gentlemen  would  like  to  have  the  fiddler  strike  up  "  Down 
in  Old  Tennessee."  The  tune  is  sounded  forth  with  all  that 


274  THE  VICISSITUDES  OE  A  PREACHER. 

warmth  of  feeling  the  negro  only  can  add  to  the  comical 
action  of  his  body. 

"  Clar'  the  way ;  let  the  boys  have  a  good  time,"  says 
Mr.  Lawrence  M'Fadden,  taking  Harry  by  the  arm  and 
giving  him  a  violent  shake.  He  commands  him  to  join  in, 
and  have  a  jolly  good  tune  with  the  rest  on  'em. 

"  Have  no  call  for  that,  master.  Let  me  act  but  the  part 
of  servant  to  you." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  come  nigger  sulks  over  this  child  ?" 
interrupts  M'Fadden,  impatiently,  scowling  his  heavy  eye 
brows,  and  casting  a  ferocious  look  at  Harry.  After 
ordering  him  to  stow  himself  in  a  corner,  he  gets  the  others 
upon  the  floor,  and  compels  them  to  shuffle  what  he  calls  a 
plantation  "  rip-her-up."  The  effect  of  this,  added  to  the 
singular  positions  into  which  they  are  frequently  thrown 
by  the  motion  of  the  cars,  affords  infinite  amusement. 

"  Tou  see,  gentlemen,  there's  nothing  like  putting  the 
springs  of  life  into  property.  Makes  it  worth  fifty  per  cent. 
more ;  and  then  ye'll  get  the  hard  knocks  out  to  a  better 
profit.  Old  southerners  spoil  niggers,  makin'  so  much  on 
'em ;  and  soft-soapin'  on  'em.  That  bit  o'  property's  bin 
spiled  just  so— he  points  to  Harry,  crouched  in  the  corner— 
And  the  critter  thinks  he  can  preach !  Take  that  out  on 
him  with  a  round  turn,  when  I  git  to  my  place,"  he 
continues. 

Harry  cares  very  little  for  M'Fadden' s  conversation ;  he 
sits  as  quietly  and  peaceably  as  if  it  had  been  addressed  to 
some  other  negro.  M'Fadden,  that  he  may  not  be  found 
wanting  in  his  efforts  to  amuse  the  young  gentlemen,  reaches 
out  his  hand  to  one  of  them,  takes  his  cigar  from  a  case,  lights 
it,  and  proceeds  to  keep  time  by  beating  his  hands  on 
his  knees. 

The  train  is  approaching  the  crossing  where  Mr. 
M'Fadden  will  discharge  his  property, — his  human  mer 
chandise,  and  proceed  with  it  some  eleven  miles  on  the 
high  i$pa<l.  The  noise  created  by  the  exuberance  of  feeling 
on  the  part  of  Mr.  M'Fadden  has  attracted  a  numerous 
assemblage  of  passengers  to  the  "  Jim  Crow"  car.  The 
conductor  views  this  as  violating  the  rules  of  the  cor 
poration;  he  demands  it  shall  be  stopped.  All  is  quiet 
for  a  time ;  they  reach  the  "  crossing"  about  five  o'clock 
P.M.,  where,  to  Mr.  Lawrence  M'Fadden' s  great  delight,  ho 


THE  VICISSITUDES  OF  A  PREACHER.  275 

finds  himself  surrounded  by  a  promiscuous  assembly  of 
sovereign  citizens,  met  to  partake  of  the  hospitalities 
offered  by  the  candidate  for  the  Assembly,  who,  having 
offered  himself,  expects  the  distinguished  honour  of  being 
elected.  The  assembled  citizens  will  hear  what  the  learned 
man's  going  to  talk  about  when  he  gets  into  the  Assembly. 

As  Mr.  M'Fadden.  is  a  great  politieiau,  and  a  greater 
democrat — we  speak  according  to  the  southern  acceptation- 
his  presence  is  welcomed  with  an  enthusiastic  burst  of 
applause.  Shout  after  shout  makes  the  very  welkin  ring,  as 
his  numerous  friends  gather  round  him,  smile  solicitously, 
shake  him  warmly  by  the  hand,  honour  him  as  the  peasantry 
honour  the  Lord  of  the  Manor. 

The  crossing— one  of  those  points  so  well  known  in  the 
south— is  a  flat,  wooded  lawn,  interspersed  here  and  there 
with  clumps  of  tall  pine-trees.  It  is  generally  dignified 
with  a  grocery,  a  justice's  office,  and  a  tavern,  where 
entertainment  for  man  and  beast  may  always  be  had.  An 
immense  deal  of  judicial  and  political  business  "is  put 
through  a  process"  at  these  strange  places.  The  squire's 
law-book  is  the  oracle  ;  all  settlements  must  be  made  by  it ; 
all  important  sayings  drawn  from  it.  The  squire  himself  is 
scarcely  less  an  individual  of  mysterious  importance ;  he 
draws  settled  facts  from,  his  copious  volume,  and  thus  saves 
himself  the  trouble  of  analysing  them.  Open  it  where  he 
•will,  the  whys  and  wherefores  for  every  case  are  never 
wanting. 

Our  present  crossing  is  a  place  of  much  importance,  being 
where  the  political  effervescence  of  the  state  often  concen 
trates.  It  will  not  do,  however,  to  analyse  that  concentra 
tion,  lest  the  fungi  that  give  it  life  and  power  may  seem  to 
conflict  with  the  safety  of  law  and  order.  On  other  occa 
sions  it  might  be  taken  for  a  place  of  rural  quiet,  instead  of 
those  indescribable  gatherings  of  the  rotten  membranes  of  a 
bad  political  power. 

Here  the  justice's  office  is  attached  to  the  grocery,  a  little 
shop  in  which  all  men  may  drink  very  deleterious  liquor ; 
and,  in  addition  to  the  tavern,  which  is  the  chief  building 
-a  quadrangular  structure  raised  a  few  feet  from  the  ground 
on  piles  of  the  palmetto  tree — there  is  a  small  church, 
shingled  and  clapboarded,  and  having  a  belfry  with  lattice 
work  sides.  An  upper  and  lower  veranda  surround  the 


276  THE  VICISSITUDES  OF  A  PREACHER. 

tavern,  affording  gentlemen  an  opportunity  to  enjoy  the 
shade. 

Several  of  Mr.  Lawrence  MTadden's  friends  meet  him  at 
the  station,  and,  as  he  receives  his  property,  assist  him  in 
securing  it  with  irons  preparatory  to  lodging  it  in  a  place  of 
safe  keeping. 

"  (join'  t'  make  this  chap  a  deacon  on  my  place ;  can 
preach  like  sixty.  It'll  save  the  trouble  seudin'  north  for 
such  trash  as  they  send  us.  Can  make  this  feller  truer  ou 
southern  principles,"  says  M'Eaddeu,  exultingly,  addressing 
himself  to  his  companions,  looking  Harry  smilingly  in  the 
face,  and  patting  him  on  the  shoulder.  The  gentlemeui 
view  Harry  with  particular  admiration,  and  remark  upon 
his  fine  points  with  the  usual  satisfaction  of  connoisseurs. 
Mr.  MTadden  will  secure  his  preacher,  in  iron  fellowship, 
to  the  left  hand  of  the  woman  slave. 

"  All  right !' '  he  says,  as  the  irons  are  locked,  and  he 
marches  his  property  up  to  the  tavern,  where  he  meets  mine 
host-a  short,  fat  man,  with  a  very  red  and  good-natured  face, 
who  always  dresses  in  brown  clothes,  smiles,  and  has  an 
extra  laugh  for  'lection  days — who  stands  his  consequential 
proportions  in  the  entrance  to  the  lower  veranda,  and  is 
receiving  his  customers  with  the  blandest  smiles.  "  I 
thinks  a  right  smart  heap  on  ye,  or  I  would'nt  a'  'gin  ye 
that  gal  for  a  mate,"  continues  MTadden,  walking  along, 
looking  at  Harry  earnestly,  and,  with  an  air  of  self-congra 
tulation,  ejecting  a  quantity  of  tobacco-juice  from  his  capa 
cious  mouth.  "  Mr.  M'Padden  is  very,  very  welcome ;"  so 
says  mine  host,  who  would  have  him  take  a  social  glass  with 
his  own  dear  self. 

Mr.  M'Fadden  must  be  excused  until  he  has  seen  the 
place  in  which  to  deposit  his  preacher  and  other  property. 

"Ah,  ha!" — mine  host  cants  his  ear,  enquiringly;—"  want 
grits  for  'em,  I  s'pose  ?"  he  returns,  and  his  round  fat  face 
glows  with  satisfaction.  "  Can  suit  you  to  a  shavin'." 

"  That's  right,  Colonel ;  I  know'd  ye  could,"  ejaculates 
the  other.  Mine  host  is  much  elated  at  hearing  his  title 
appended.  Colonel  Prank  Jones — such  is  mine  host's 
name— never  fought  but  one  duel,  and  that  was  the  time 
when,  being  a  delegate  to  the  southern  blowing-up  conven 
tion,  lately  holden  in  the  secession  city  of  Charleston,  he 
entered  his  name  on  the  register  of  the  Charleston  Hotel — 


THE  VICISSITUDES  OF  A  PREACHES.  277 

"  Colonel  Prank  Jones,  Esq.,  of  the  South  Carolina 
Dragoons  ;"  beneath  which  an  impertinent  wag  scrawled — 
"  Corporal  James  Henry  Williamson  M'Donal  Cudgo,  Esq. 
of  the  same  regiment."  Colonel  Frank  Jones,  Esq. 
took  this  very  gross  insult  in  the  highest  kind  of  dudgeon, 
and  forthwith  challenged  the  impertinent  wag  to  settle  the 
matter  as  became  gentlemen.  The  duel,  however,  ended 
quite  as  harmlessly  as  the  blowing-up  convention  of  which 
Mr.  Colonel  Prank  Jones  was  a  delegate,  the  seconds 
-thoughtless  wretches— having  forgot  to  put  bullets  in  the 
weapons. 

Our  readers  must  excuse  us  for  digressing  a  little.  Mine 
host  rubs  his  hands,  draws  his  mouth  into  a  dozen  different 
puckers,  and  then  cries  out  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  "  Ho, 
boys,  ho !" 

Three  or  four  half-clad  negroes  come  scampering  into  the 
room,  ready  to  answer  the  summons.  "  Take  charge  0'  this 
property  o'  my  friend's  here.  Get  'em  a  good  tuck  out  o* 
grits." 

"  Can  grind  'em  themselves,"  interrupts  M'Fadden, 
quickly.  "  About  the  price,  Colonel  ?" 

"  That's  all  straight,"  spreading  his  hands  with  an  accom 
panying  nod  of  satisfaction :  "  'commodate  ye  with  a  first- 
rate  lock-up  and  the  grits  at  seven-pence  a  day." 

"  No  objection."  Mr.  M'Fadden  is  entirely  satisfied. 
The  waiters  take  the  gentleman's  property  in  charge,  and 
conduct  it  to  a  small  building,  an  appropriate  habitation  of 
hens  and  pigs.  It  was  of  logs,  rough  hewn,  without  chink 
ing  ;  without  floor  to  keep  Mr.  M'Fadden' s  property  from 
the  ground,  damp  and  cold.  Unsuited  as  it  is  to  the  re 
ception  of  human  beings,  many  planters  of  great  opulence 
have  none  better  for  their  plantation  people.  It  is  about 
ten  feet  high,  seven  broad,  and  eleven  long. 

"  Have  a  dandy  time  on't  in  here  to-night,"  says  Mr. 
M'Fadden,  addressing  himself  to  Harry,  as  one  of  the 
waiters  unlocks  the  door  and  ushers  the  human  property 
into  its  dreary  abode.  Mr.  M'Fadden  will  step  inside,  to 
take  a  bird's-eye  view  of  the  security  of  the  place.  He  enter 
tains  some  doubts  about  the  faith  of  his  preacher,  however,  and 
has  half  an  inclination  to  turn  round  as  he  is  about  making 
his  exit.  He  will.  Approaches  Harry  a  second  time  ;  he 
feels  his  pockets  carefully,  and  suggests  that  he  has  some 


278  THE  VICISSITUDES  OF  A  PBEACH.KE. 

mischievous  weapon  of  liberty  stowed  away  somewhere. 
He  presses  and  presses  his  hands  to  his  skirts  and  bosom. 
And  now  he  knew  he  was  not  mistaken,  for  he  feels  some 
thing  solid  in  the  bosom  of  his  shirt,  which  is  not  his  heart, 
although  that  thing  makes  a  deuce  of  a  fluttering.  Mr. 
MTadden's  anxiety  increases  as  he  squeezes  his  hands  over 
its  shapes,  and  watches'  the  changes  of  Harry's  countenance. 
"  Book,  ha'h !"  he  exclaims,  drawing  the  osnaburg  tight  over 
the  square  with  his  left  hand,  while,  with  his  right,  he  sud 
denly  grasps  Harry  firmly  by  the  hair  of  the  head,  as  if  he 
has  discovered  an  infernal  machine.  "  Book,  ha'h !" 

"  Pull  it  out,  old  buck.  That's  the  worst  o'  learned 
niggers ;  puts  the  very  seven  devils  in  their  black  heads, 
and  makes  'em  carry  their  conceit  right  into  nigger  stub 
bornness,  so  ye  have  t'  bring  it  out  by  lashin'  and  botherin'. 
Can't  stand  such  nigger  nonsense  nohow." 

Harry  has  borne  all  very  peaceably  ;  but  there  is  a  time 
when  even  the  worm  will  turn.  He  draws  forth  the  book, — 
it  is  the  Bible,  his  hope  and  comforter ;  he  has  treasured  it 
near  his  heart — that  heart  that  beats  loudly  against  the 
rocks  of  oppression.  "  What  man  can  he  be  who  feareth 
the  word  of  God,  and  says  he  is  of  his  chosen  ?  Master, 
that's  my  Bible  :  can  it  do  evil  against  righteousness  ?  It  ia 
the  light  my  burdened  spirit  loves,  my  guide — " 

"  Your  spirit  ?"  inquires  M'Fadden,  sullenly,  interrupting 
Harry.  "  A  black  spirit,  ye'  mean,  ye'  nigger  of  a  preacher. 
I  didn't  buy  that,  nor  don't  want  it.  'Taint  worth  seven 
coppers  in  picking  time.  But  I  tell  ye,  cuff,  wouldn't  mind 
lettin'  on  ye  preach,  if  a  feller  can  make  a  spec*  on't."  The 
gentleman  concludes,  contracting  his  eyebrows,  and  scowling 
at  his  property  forbiddingly. 

"  You'll  let  me  have  it  again  when  I  gets  on  the  planta 
tion,  won't  ye,  master  ?"  inquires  Harry,  calmly. 

"Let  you  have  it  on  the  plantation?" — Mr.  MTadden 
gives  his  preacher  a  piercingly  fierce  look — "  that's  just 
whore  ye  won't  have  't.  Have  any  kind  o'  song-book  ye' 
wants  ;  only  larn  'em  to  other  niggers,  so  they  can  put  in 
the  chorus  once  in  a  while.  Now,  old  buck  (I'm  a  man  o1 
genius,  ye  know),  when  niggers  get  larnin'  the  Bible  out  o' 
ther'  own  heads,  't  makes  'em  sassy'r  than  ther's  any  calcu- 
latiti'  on.  It  just  puts  the  very  d — 1  into  property.  Why, 
*  Good  profit. 


THE  VICISSITUDES  OF    A  F^IACHEB.  279 

deacon,"  he  addresses  himself  to  Harry  with  more  compla 
cency,  "  my  old  father — he  was  as  good  a  father  as  ever 
came  from  Dublin — said  it  was  just  the  spilin'  on  his  chil 
dren  to  larn  'em  to  read.  See  me,  now !  what  larnin'  I'ze 
got ;  got  it  all  don't  know  how  :  cum  as  nat'ral  as  daylight. 
I've  got  the  allfired'st  sense  ye  ever  did  see ;  and  it's  com 
mon  sense  what  makes  money.  Yer  don't  think  a  feller 
what's  got  sense  like  me  would  bother  his  head  with  larnin' 
in  this  ar'  down  south  ?"  Mr.  M'Eadden  exhibits  great 
confidence  in  himself,  and  seems  quite  playful  with  his 
preacher,  whom  he  pats  on  the  shoulder  and  shakes  by  the 
hand.  "  I  never  read  three  chapters  in  that  ar'  book  in  my 
whole  life — wouldn't  neither.  Really,  deacon,  two-thirds  of 
the  people  of  our  State  can't  read  a  word  out  o'  that  book. 
As  for  larnin',  I  just  put  me  mind  on  the  thing,  and  got  the 
meanin'  out  on't  sudden." 

Mr.  M'Fadden's  soothing  consolation,  that,  as  he  has 
become  such  a  wonderful  specimen  of  mankind  without 
learning,  Harry  must  be  a  very  dangerous  implement  of 
progress  if  allowed  to  go  about  the  plantation  with  a  Bible 
in  his  pocket,  seems  strange  in  this  our  Christian  land. 
"  Can  fiddle  just  as  much  as  yer  mind  t',"  concludes  Mr. 
Lawrence  M'Fadden,  as  he  again  shakes  the  hand  of  his 
preacher,  and  proceeds  to  mingle  with  the  political  gather 
ing,  the  Bible  in  his  pocket. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

HOW  WE  MANUFACTURE  POLITICAL  FAITH. 

ME.  M'FADDEK  enters  the  tavern,  which  presents  one  of 
those  grotesque  scenes  so  peculiarly  southern,  i  Imost  impos 
sible  for  the  reader  to  imagine,  and  scarcely  less  for  pen  to 
describe.  In  and  around  the  verandas  are  numerous  arm 
chairs,  occupied  by  the  fashionable  portion  of  the  political 
material,  who,  dressed  in  extreme  profuseness,  are  dis 
playing  their  extraordinary  distinctions  in  jewellery  of 
heavy  seals  and  long  dangling  chains.  Some  are  young 
men  who  have  enjoyed  the  advantage  of  a  liberal  education, 
which  they  now  turn  into  the  more  genial  duty  of  ornament 
ing  themselves.  They  have  spent  much  time  and  many 
valuable  cosmetics  on  their  heads,  all  of  which  is  very  satis 
factorily  repaid  by  the  smoothness  of  their  hair.  Their 
pleasure  never  penetrated  beyond  this ;  they  ask  no  more. 

They  ask  but  little  of  the  world,  and  are  discussing  the 
all-important  question,  whether  Colonel  Mophauy  or 
General  Vandart  will  get  the  more  votes  at  the  polls. 
So  they  smoke  and  harangue,  and  drink  and  swear, 
and  with  inimitable  provincialisms  fill  up  the  clattering 
music.  There  is  a  fascinating  piquancy  in  the  strange 
slang  and  conversational  intermixture.  It  is  a  great  day  at 
the  crossing ;  the  political  sediment  has  reduced  all  men  to 
one  grade,  one  harmonious  whole,  niggers  excepted.  Spirits 
that  cannot  flow  one  way  must  flow  another. 

In  an  adjoining  room  sit  the  two  candidates — gentlemen 
of  high  distinction — for  the  votes  of  the  sovereign  people. 
Through  those  sovereign  rights  they  will  satisfy  their  yearn 
ing  desire  to  reach  the  very  high  position  of  member  of  the 
general  assembly.  Anxiety  is  pictured  on  their  very  counte 
nances  ;  it  is  the  fruit  of  care  when  men  travel  the  road  to 
distinction  without  finding  it.  They  are  well  dressed,  and 
would  be  modest,  if  modesty  were  worth  its  having  in  such  an 
atmosphere.  Indeed,  they  might  have  been  taken  for  men  with 
other  motives  than  those  of  gaining  office  by  wallowing  in  a 


HOW  WE  MANUFACTURE  POLITICAL  FAITH.  281 

political  quagmire  reeking  with  democratic  filth.  Courteous 
to  each  other,  they  sit  at  a  large  table  containing  long  slips 
of  paper,  each  candidate's  sentiments  printed  thereon. 
As  each  voter— good  fellow  that  he  is— enters  the  room,  one 
or  the  other  candidate  reaches  out  his  hand  to  welcome  him, 
and,  as  a  sequel,  hands  him  his  slip,  making  the  politest 
bow.  Much  is  said  about  the  prospects  of  the  South,  and 
much  more  that  is  very  acceptable  to  those  about  to  do 
the  drinking  part  of  the  scene. 

Both  candidates  are  very  ambitious  men ;  both  profess  to 
be  the  people's  champion — the  sovereign  people — the  dear 
people — the  noble- hearted  people — the  iron-handed,  un- 
bribable,  unterrified  democracy — the  people  from  whom  all 
power  springs.  The  never-flinching,  unterrified,  irresistible 
democracy  are  smothered  with  encomiums  of  praise,  sound 
ing  from  all  parts  of  the  room.  Mr.  Lawrence  M'Fadden 
is  ushered  into  the  room  to  the  great  joy  of  his  friends : 
being  a  very  great  man  among  the  loyal  voters,  his  appear 
ance  produces  great  excitement. 

Several  friends  of  the  candidates,  working  for  their 
favourites,  are  making  themselves  very  humble  in  their 
behalf.  Although  there  is  little  Care  for  maintaining  any 
fundamental  principle  of  government  that  does  not  serve 
his  own  pocket,  Mr.  M'Fadden  can  and  will  control  a 
large  number  of  votes,  do  a  deal  of  knocking  down  at  the 
polls,  and  bring  up  first-rate  fighting  men  to  do  the  keeping 
away  the  opposite's  constituents.  Thus  our  man,  who  has 
lately  been  bought  as  preacher,  is  most  useful  in  this  our  little 
democratic  world. 

Some  two  or  three  hundred  persons  have  collected  near  a 
clump  of  trees  on  the  lawn,  and  are  divided  into  knots 
intermixed  with  ruffian-looking  desperadoes,  dressed  most 
coarsely  and  fantastically.  They  are  pitting  their  men,  after 
the  fashion  of  good  horses  ;  then  they  boldly  draw  forth  and 
expose  the  minor  delinquencies  of  opposing  candidates. 
Among  them  are  the  "  Saw-piters,"  who  affect  an  air  of 
dignity,  and  scout  the  planter's  offer  of  work  so  long 
as  a  herring  runs  the  river ;  the  "  piny  woods-man,"  of 
great  independence  while  rabbits  are  found  in  the  woods, 
and  he  can  wander  over  the  barren  unrestrained  ;  and 
the  "  "Wire- Grass-Men ;"  and  the  Crackers,*  who  live  any- 
*  Singular  species  of  gypsies,  found  throughout  the  State. 


282  HOW  WE  MAffTTFACTTJEE  POLITICAL  FAITH. 

where  and  everywhere,  and  whom  the  government  delights  to 
keep  in  ignorance,  while  declaring  it  much  better  they  were 
enslaved.  The  State  possesses  many  thousands  of  these 
people ;  but  few  of  them  can  read,  while  never  having 
Avritten  a  stroke  in  their  lives  is  a  boast.  Continually 
armed  with  double-barrel  guns,  to  hunt  the  panting  buck 
is  one  of  their  sports ;  to  torture  a  runaway  negro  is 
another ;  to  make  free  with  a  planter's  corn  field  is  the 
very  best.  The  reader  may  imagine  this  picture  of  lean, 
craven  faces — unshaven  and  made  fiercely  repulsive  by  their 
small,  treacherous  eyes,  if  he  can.  It  can  only  be  seen  in 
these  our  happy  slave  states  of  our  happy  Union. 

The  time  draws  near  when  the  candidates  will  -come 
forward,  address  the  sovereign  constituency,  and  declare 
their  free  and  open  principles — their  love  of  liberal  govern 
ments,  and  their  undying  affection  for  the  great  truths 
of  democracy.  The  scene,  as  the  time  approaches, 
becomes  more  and  more  animated.  All  are  armed  to  the 
teeth,  with  the  symbol  of  honour — something  so  called— 
beneath  their  coarse  doublets,  or  in  the  waistbands  of  their 
pantaloons.  The  group  evinces  so  much  excitement  that 
belligerents  are  well  nigh  coming  to  blows  ;  in  fact, 
peace  is  only  preserved  by  the  timely  appearance  of  the 
landlord,  who  proclaims  that  unless  order  be  preserved 
until  after  the  candidates  have  addressed  them,  the  next 
barrel  of  whiskey  will  positively  "not  be  tapped."  He 
could  not  use  a  more  effectual  argument.  Mr.  MTadden, 
who  exercises  great  authority  over  the  minions  under  him, 
at  this  announcement  mounts  the  top  of  an  empty  whiskey 
barrel,  and  declares  he  will  whip  the  "  whole  crowd,"  if 
they  do  not  cease  to  wage  their  political  arguments. 

While  the  above  cursory  remarks  and  party  sparrings  are 
going  on,  some  forty  negroes  are  seen  busily  employed  prepar 
ing  the  indispensable  adjuncts  of  the  occasion — the  meats. 
Here,  beneath  the  clump  of  trees,  a  few  yards  from  the 
grocery  and  justices'  office,  the  candidates' tables  are  being 
spread  with  cold  meats,  crackers,  bread  and  cheese,  cigars, 
&c.,  &c.  As  soon  as  the  gentlemen  candidates  have  deli 
vered  themselves  of  their  sentiments,  two  barrels  of  real 
"  straight-back"  whiskey  will  be  added. 

"  This  is  the  way  we  puts  our  candidate  through,  down 
Boutb,  ye  see,  fellers,  voters :  it's  we  what's  the  bone  and 


HOW  WK  MANUFACTURE  POLITICAL  FAITH.  283 

siners  o'  the  rights  o'  the  south.  It's  we  what's  got  t'  take 
the  slow-coach  politics  out  o'  the  hands  o'  them  ar'  old 
harristocrats  what  don't  think  them  ar'  northern  abolition 
ists  han't  goin  to  do  uothin.  It's  we,  fellow  citizens,  what 
puts  southern-rights  principles  clean  through ;  it's  we  what 
puts  them  ar'  old  Union  haristocrats,  what  spiles  all  the 
nigger  property,  into  the  straight  up  way  o'  doing  things  ! 
Now,  feller  voters,  free  and  independent  citizens — freemen 
who  have  fought  for  freedom, — you,  whose  old,  grey-headed 
fathers  died  for  freedom!  it  takes  you  t'  know  what  sort  a 
thing  freedom  is  ;  and  how  to  enjoy  it  so  niggers  can't  take 
it  away  from  you  !  I'ze  lived  north  way,  know  how  it  is  ! 
Yer  jist  the  chaps  to  put  niggers  straight, — to  vote  for  my 
man,  Colonel  Mohpany,"  Mr.  M'Fadden  cries  out  at  the 
very  top  of  his  voice,  as  he  comes  rushing  out  of  the  tavern, 
edging  his  way  through  the  crowd,  followed  by  the  two 
candidates.  The  gentlemen  look  anxiously  good-natured  ; 
they  walk  together  to  the  rostrum,  followed  by  a  crowd, 
measuring  their  way  to  the  assembly  through  the  darling 
affections  of  our  free  and  independent  voters.  Gossamer 
citizenship,  this  ! 

As  they  reach  the  rostrum,  a  carriage  is  seen  in  the 
distance,  approaching  in  great  haste.  All  attention  being 
directed  to  it,  the  first  candidate,  Colonel  Mohpany,  mounts 
the  stump,  places  his  right  hand  in  his  bosom,  and  pauses  as  if 
to  learn  who  it  brings.  To  the  happy  consolation  of 
Mr.  M'Padden  and  his  friends,  it  bears  Mr.  Scranton  the 
philosopher.  Poor  Mr.  Scrantou  looks  quite  worn  out  with 
anxiety ;  he  has  come  all  the  way  from  the  city,  prepared 
with  the  very  best  kind  of  a  southern-rights  speech,  to 
relieve  his  friend,  General  Vardant,  who  is  not  accustomed 
to  public  declamation.  The  General  is  a  cunning  fellow, 
fears  the  stump  accomplishments  of  his  antagonist,  and  has 
secured  the  valuable  services  of  philosopher  Scranton.  Mr.  S. 
will  tell  the  constituency,  in  very  logical  phraseology, — making 
the  language  suit  the  sentiments  of  his  friends,— what  prin 
ciples  must  be  maintained  ;  how  the  General  depends  upon 
the  soundness  of  their  judgment  to  sustain  him ;  how  they 
are  the  bone  and  sinews  of  the  great  political  power  of  the 
South  ;  how  their  hard,  uncontrastable  appearance,  and  their 
garments  of  similar  primitiveuess,  are  emblematic  of  the 
iron  firmness  of  their  democracy.  Mr.  Scranton  will  further 
19 


284  HOW  WE  MANUFACTURE  POLITICAL  FAITH. 

assure  them  that  their  democracy  is  founded  on  that  very 
accommodating  sort  of  freedom  which  will  be  sure  to  keep 
all  persons  of  doubtful  colour  in  slavery. 

Mr.  Scranton  arrives,  receives  the  congratulations  of  his 
friends,  gets  the  negroes  to  brush  him  down, — for  it  is 
difficult  to  distinguish  him  from  a  pillar  of  dust,  save 
that  we  have  his  modest  eyes  for  assurances — takes  a  few 
glasses  of  moderate  mixture,  and  coolly  collects  his  ideas. 
The  mixture  will  bring  out  Mr.  Scranton's  philosophical  facts : 
and,  now  that  he  has  got  his  face  and  beard  cleanly  washed, 
he  will  proceed  to  the  stand.  Here  he  is  received  with  loud 
cheering ;  the  gentleman  is  a  great  man,  all  the  way  from 
the  city.  Sitting  on  a  chair  he  is  sorry  was  made  at  the 
north,  he  exhibits  a  deal  of  method  in  taking  from  his 
pocket  a  long  cedar  pencil,  with  which  he  will  make  notes 
of  all  Colonel  Mohpany's  loose  points. 

The  reader,  we  feel  assured,  will  excuse  us  for  not  following 
Colonel  Mohpany  through  his  speech,  so  laudatory  of  the 
patriotism  of  his  friends,  so  much  interrupted  by  applause. 
The  warm  manner  in  which  his  conclusion  is  received  assures 
him  that  he  now  is  the  most  popular  man  in  the  State. 
Mr.  Scranton,  armed  with  his  usually  melancholy  counte 
nance,  rises  to  the  stump,  makes  his  modestly  political  bow, 
offers  many  impressive  apologies  for  the  unprepared  state  in 
which  he  finds  himself,  informs  his  hearers  that  he  appears 
before  them  only  as  a  substitute  for  his  very  intimate  and 
particular  friend,  General  Vardant.  He,  too,  has  a  wonderful 
prolixity  of  compliments  to  bescow  upon  the  free,  the  patri 
otic,  the  independent  voters  of  the  very  independent  district. 
He  tries  to  be  facetious;  but  his  temperament  will  not 
admit  of  any  inconsistencies,  not  even  in  a  political  contest. 
No !  he  must  be  serious;  because  the  election  of  a  candidate 
to  so  high  an  office  is  a  serious  affair.  So  he  will  tell  the 
"Saw-pit  men"  a  great  deal  about  their  noble  sires:  how 
they  lived  and  died  for  liberty  ;  how  the  tombstones  of 
immortality  are  emblazoned  with  the  fame  of  their  glorious 
deeds.  And  he  will  tell  these  glorious  squatters  what 
inalienable  rights  they  possess ;  how  they  must  be  main 
tained  ;  and  how  they  have  always  been  first  to  maintain 
the  principle  of  keeping  "  niggers"  in  their  places,  and 
resisting  those  mischievous  propagators  of  northern  villainy — 
abolitionists.  He  will  tell  the  deep-thinking  saw-pit  voters 


HOW  WE  MANUFACTURE  POLITICAL  FAITH.  285 

how  it  has  been  charged  against  them  that  they  were  only 
independent  once  a  year,  and  that  was  when  herrings  run 
up  the  Santee  river.  Such  a  gross  slander  Mr.  Scranton 
declares  to  be  the  most  impious.  They  were  always  inde 
pendent  ;  and,  if  they  were  poor,  and  preferred  to  habit 
themselves  in  primitive  garbs,  it  was  only  because  they 
preferred  to  be  honest !  This,  Mr.  Scranton,  the  northern 
philosopher,  asserts  with  great  emphasis.  Yes !  they  are 
honest ;  and  honest  patriots  are  always  better  than  rich 
traitors.  From  the  san-pit  men,  Mr.  Scranton,  his  face 
distended  with  eloquence,  turns  to  his  cracker  and  "  wire- 
grass"  friends,  upon  whom  he  bestows  most  piercing  compli 
ments.  Their  lean  mules— the  speaker  laughs  at  his  own  wit- 
and  pioneer  waggons  always  remind  him  of  the  good  old  times, 
when  he  was  a  boy,  and  everybody  was  so  honest  it  was 
unnecessary  even  to  have  such  useless  finery  as  people  put 
on  at  the  present  day.  A  word  or  two,  very  derogatory  of 
the  anti-slavery  people,  is  received  with  deafening  applause. 
Of  the  descendants  of  the  Huguenots  he  says  but  little;  they 
are  few,  rich,  and  very  unpopular  in  this  part  of  the  little 
sovereign  state.  And  he  quite  forgot  to  tell  this  unlettered 
mass  of  a  sovereign  constituency  the  true  cause  of  their  poverty 
and  degradation.  Mr.  Scranton,  however,  in  one  particular 
point,  which  is  a  vital  one  to  the  slave-ocracy,  differs  with 
the  ungovernable  Romescos, — he  would  not  burn  all  common 
schools,  nor  scout  all  such  trash  as  schoolmasters. 

In  another  part  of  Mr.  Scranton's  speech  he  enjoins  them 
to  be  staunch  supporters  of  men  known  to  be  firm  to  the 
south,  and  who  would  blow  up  every  yankee  who  came  south, 
and  refused  to  declare  his  sentiments  to  be  for  concession. 
"  You ! — he  points  round  him  to  the  grotesque  crowd- 
were  first  to  take  a  stand  and  keep  niggers  down  ;  to  keep 
them  where  they  can't  turn  round  and  enslave  you !  Great 
Britain,  fell  ercitizens,— Mr.  Scranton  begins  to  wax  warm ; 
he  adjusts  his  coat  sleeves,  and  draws  himself  into  a  tragic 
attitude  as  he  takes  his  tobacco  from  his  mouth,  seemingly 

unconscious  of  his  own  enthusiasm — I  say  Great  Britain " 

A  sudden  interruption  is  caused.  Mr.  Scranton's  muddled 
quid,  thrown  with  such  violence,  has  bedaubed  the  cheek  of 
an  admiring  saw-pitter,  whose  mind  was  completely  absorbed 
in  his  eloquence.  He  was  listeningwith  breathless  suspense, 


286  HOW  AVE  MANUFACTURE  POLITICAL  FAITH. 

and  only  saved  its  admission  in  bis  capacious  mouth  by 
closing  it  a  few  seconds  before. 

"  Sarved  bim  just  right;  keep  on,  Colonel!"  exclaims 
Mr.  M'Fadden.  He  takes  the  man  by  the  arm,  pushes 
bim  aside,  and  makes  a  slight  bow  to  Mr.  Scranton.  He 
would  have  bim  go  on. 

"  Great  Britain — feller  citizens,  I  say — was  first  to 
commence  the  warfare  against  nigger  slavery  ;  and  now  she 
is  joining  the  north  to  seek  its  permanent  overthrow.  She 
is  a  monster  tyrant  wherever  she  sets  her  foot — I  say ! 
(Three  cheers  for  that.)  She  contributed  to  fasten  the 
curse  upon  us  ;  and  now  she  wants  to  destroy  us  by  taking 
it  away  according  to  the  measures  of  the  northern  aboli 
tionists — fanaticism  !  Whatever  the  old  school  southerner 
neglects  to  do  for  the  preservation  of  the  peculiar  institution, 
we  must  do  for  him  !  And  we,  who  have  lived  at  the  north, 
can,  with  your  independent  support,  put  the  whole  thing 
through  a  course  of  political  crooks."  Again  Mr.  Scrantou 
pauses ;  surveys  his  assembly  of  free  and  independent  citizens. 

"That  we  can:  I  knows  what  fanatics  down  east  be!" 
rejoins  Mr.  M'Faddeu,  shaking  his  head  very  knowingly. 
He  laughs  with  an  air  of  great  satisfaction,  as  much  as  to 
say  that,  with  such  northern  philosophers  to  do  the  cham- 
pionism  of  slavery  in  the  south,  all  the  commercial  relations 
for  which  northern  merchants  are  under  so  many  obligations 
to  slave-labour,  will  be  perfectly  safe.  But  Mr.  Scranton 
has  drawn  out  his  speech  to  such  an  uncommon  length,  that 
the  loquacious  M'Fadden  is  becoming  decidedly  wearied. 
His  eyes  begin  to  glow  languid,  and  the  lids  to  close, — and 
now  he  nods  assent  to  all  Mr.Scrantou's  sayings,  which  singu 
larly  attracts  the  attention  of  that  orator's  bearers.  The  orator 
becomes  very  much  annoyed  at  this,  suddenly  stops — begs 
Mr.  M'Fadden  will  postpone  bis  repose.  This,  from  so 
great  a  man  as  Mr.  Scranton,  is  accepted  as  provokingly 
witty.  Mr.  M'Fadden  laughs ;  and  they  all  laugh.  The 
gentleman  will  continue  his  speech. 

"  The  South  must  come  out ;  must  establish  free  trade, 
direct  trade, — trade  that  will  free  her  from  her  disreputable 
association  with  the  North.  She  can  do  it !"  Mr.  Scrauton 
wipes  bis  forehead  with  his  white  pocket-handkerchief. 

"  Ain't  we  deeply  indebted  to  the  North  ?"  a  voice  in  the 
crowd  cries  out. 


HOW  WE  MANUFACTURE  POLITICAL  FAITH.  287 

"  Well !  what  if  we  are  ?  Can't  we  offset  the  debts  oil 
the  principles  of  war  ?  Let  it  go  against  the  injury  of  abo 
lition  excitements  !"  Mr.  Scranton  makes  a  theatrical 
flourish  with  his  right  hand,  and  runs  the  fingers  of  his 
left  through  his  crispy  hair,  setting  it  on  end  like  quills  on  a 
porcupine's  back.  Three  long  and  loud  cheers  follow,  and 
the  gentleman  is  involuntarily  compelled  to  laugh  at  his  own 
singular  sayings.  "  The  South  must  hold  conventions  ;  she 
must  enforce  constitutional  guarantees  ;  she  must  plant  her 
self  in  the  federal  capital,  and  plead  her  cause  at  the  bar  of 
the  world.  She  will  get  a  hearing  there !  And  she  must 
supplant  that  dangerous  engine  of  abolition,  now  waging 
war  against  our  property,  our  rights,  our  social  system." 
Thus  concluding,  Mr.  Scranton  sits  down,  very  much  fatigued 
from  his  mental  effervescence,  yet  much  lighter  from  having 
relieved  himself  of  his  speech,  amidst  a  storm  of  applause. 
Such  a  throwing  up  of  hats  and  slouches,  such  jostling,  abet 
ting,  and  haranguing  upon -the  merits  of  the  candidates, 
their  speeches  and  their  sentiments,  never  was  heard  or  seen 
before. 

Mine  host  now  mounts  the  stand  to  make  the  welcome 
announcement,  that,  the  speeches  being  over,  the  eating 
entertainments  are  ready.  He  hopes  the  friends  of  the 
candidates  will  repair  to  the  tables,  and  help  themselves 
without  stint  or  restraint.  As  they  are  on  the  point  of 
rushing  upon  the  tables,  Colonel  Mohpany  suddenly  jumps 
up,  and  arrests  the  progress  of  the  group  by  intimating  that 
he  has  one  word  more  to  say.  That  word  is,  his  desire  to 
inform  the  bone  and  sinew  of  the  constituency  that  his  op 
ponent  belongs  to  a  party  which  once  declared  in  the  Assem 
bly  that  they — the  very  men  who  stand  before  him  now — 
were  a  dangerous  class  unless  reduced  to  slavery !  The 
Colonel  has  scarcely  delivered  himself  of  this  very  clever 
charge,  when  the  tables,  a  few  yards  distant,  are  surrounded 
by  promiscuous  friends  and  foes,  who  help  themselves  after 
the  fashion  most  advantageous.  All  rules  of  etiquette  are 
unceremoniously  dispensed  with, — he  who  can  secure 
most  is  the  best  diplomatist.  Many  find  their  mouths  so 
inadequate  to  the  temptation  of  the  feast,  that  they  improve 
on  Mr.  Scranton' s  philosophy  by  making  good  use  of  their 
ample  pockets.  Believe  us,  reader,  the  entertainment  is  the 
essential  part  of  the  candidate's  political  virtue,  which  must 


288  HOW  WE  MANUFACTURE  POLITICAL  FAITH. 

be  measured  according  to  the  extent  of  his  cold  meats  and 
very  bad  whiskey. 

To  carry  out  the  strength  of  General  Yardant's  principles, 
several  of  his  opponent's  friends  are  busily  employed  in  cir 
culating  a  report  that  his  barrel  of  whiskey  has  been  "  brought 
on"  only  half  full.  A  grosser  slander  could  not  have  been 
invented.  But  the  report  gains  circulation  so  fast,  that  his 
meats  and  drinks  are  mischievously  absorbed,  and  the  demon 
stration  of  his  unpopular  position  begins  to  be  manifest.  The 
candidates,  unflinching  in  their  efforts,  mix  with  the  medley, 
have  the  benefit  of  the  full  exercise  of  free  thought  and  ac 
tion,  hear  various  opinions  upon  "the  Squire's  chances," 
and  listen  to  the  chiming  of  high-sounding  compliments 
While  this  clanging  of  merry  jargon  is  at  its  highest,  as  if 
by  some  magic  influence  Romescos  makes  his  appearance, 
and  immediately  commences  to  pit  sides  with  Mr.  M'Fadden. 
With  all  Romescos'  outlawry,  he  is  tenacious  of  his 
southern  origin ;  and  he  will  assert  its  rights  against 
Mr.  M'Fadden,  whom  he  declares  to  be  no  better  than  a 
northern  humbug,  taking  advantage  of  southern  institutions. 
To  him  all  northerners  are  great  vagabonds,  having  neither 
principles  nor  humanity  in  their  composition  ;  he  makes  the 
assertion  emphatically, without  fearor  trembling;  and  he  calls 
upon  his  friends  to  sustain  him,  that  he  may  maintain  the 
rights  of  the  South.  Those  rights  Romescos  asserts,  and  re 
asserts,  can  only  be  preserved  by  southern  men — not  by 
sneaking  northerners,  who,  with  their  trade,  pocket  their  souls. 
Northerners  are  great  men  for  whitewashing  their  faces  with 

Setence !  Romescos  is  received  with  considerable  eclat. 
e  declares,  independently,  that  Mr.  Scranton  too  is  no  less 
a  sheer  humbug  of  the  same  stripe,  and  whose  humbugging 
propensities  make  him  the  humble  servant  of  the  south  so 
long  as  he  can  make  a  dollar  by  the  bemeaning  operation. 
His  full  aud  unmeasured  appreciation  of  all  this  northern- 
southern  independence  is  here  given  to  "the  world  for  the 
world's  good.  And  he  wants  the  world  to  particularly  un 
derstand,  that  the  old  southerner  is  the  only  independent 
man,  the  only  true  protector  of  humanity ! 

Romescos'  sudden  appearance,  and  the  bold  stand  he 
takes  against  Mr.  M'Fadden  and  his  candidate,  produce 
the  utmost  confusion ;  he  being  unpopular  with  the  saw- 
pit  men,  with  whom  he  once  exhibited  considerable"  dexterity 


HOW  WK  SPREAD  POLITICAL  FAITH. 

in  carrying  off  one  of  their  number  and  putting  the  seal  of 
slavery  on  him,  they  take  sides  against  him.  It  is  the  Saw- 
pitters  against  Romescos  and  the  Crackers.  The  spirits 
have  flowed,  and  now  the  gods  of  our  political  power  sway 
to  and  fro  under  most  violent  shocks.  Many,  being  unable 
to  keep  a  perpendicular,  are  accusing  each  other  of  all  sorts 
of  misdeeds — of  the  misdeeds  of  their  ancestors — of  the 
specific  crimes  they  committed — the  punishments  they  suf 
fered.  From  personalities  of  their  own  time  they  descend 
forthinto  jeering  each  otheron  matters  of  family  frailty,  setting 
what  their  just  deserts  would  have  entitled  them  to  receive. 
They  continue  in  this  strain  of  jargon  for  some  time,  until 
at  length  it  becomes  evident  the  storm  of  war  is  fast  ap 
proaching  a  crisis.  Mr.  M'Fadden  is  mentally  unprepared 
to  meet  this  crisis,  which  Romescos  will  make  to  suit  him 
self  ;  and  to  this  end  the  comical  and  somewhat  tragical 
finale  seems  pretty  well  understood  by  the  candidates  and  a 
few  of  the  "  swell- ocracy,"  -who  have  assembled  more  to  see 
the  grand  representation  of  physical  power  on  the  part  of 
these  free  and  enlightened  citizens,  than  to  partake  of  the 
feast  or  listen  to  the  rhetoric  of  the  speeches.  In  order  to 
get  a  good  view  of  the  scene  they  have  ascended  trees, 
where,  perched  among  their  branches  like  so  many  jackals, 
they  cheer  and  urge  on  the  sport,  as  the  nobility  of  Spain 
applaud  a  favourite  champion  of  the  ring.  At  length  the  op 
posing  parties  doff  their  hats  and  coats,  draw  knives,  make 
threatening  grimaces,  and  twirl  their  steel  in  the  air : 
their  desperation  is  earnest;  theymake  an  onset,  charging  with 
the  bravado  of  men  determined  to  sacrifice  life.  The  very 
air  resounds  with  their  shouts  of  blasphemy  ;  blood  flows 
from  deep  incisions  of  bowie-knives  ;  garments  are  rent  into 
shreds ;  and  men  seem  to  have  betaken  themselves  to 
personating  the  demons. 

"Would  that  they  were  rational  beings  !  would  that  they 
were  men  capable  of  constituting  a  power  to  protect  the 
liberty  of  principle  and  the  justice  of  law !  Shout  after 
shout  goes  up ;  tumult  is  triumphant.  Two  fatal  ren 
contres  are  announced,  and  Mr.  Lawrence  MTadden  is 
dangerously  wounded ;  he  has  a  cut  in  the  abdomen.  The 
poor  victims  attract  but  little  attention  ;  such  little  trifling 
affairs  are  very  common,  scarcely  worth  a  word  of  commise 
ration.  One  gentleman  insinuates  that  the  affair  has  been 


290  HOW  WE  SPREAD  POLITICAL  FAITH. 

a  desperately  amusing  one ;  another  very  coolly  adds,  that 
this  political  feed  has  had  much  more  interest  in  it  than  any 
preceding  one. 

The  victims  are  rolled  in  blankets,  and  laid  away  in  the 
corn-shed  ;  they  will  await  the  arrival  of  the  coroner,  who, 
the  landlord  says,  it  will  be  no  more  than  right  to  send  for. 
They  are  only  two  dead  Crackers,  however,  and  nobody 
doubts  what  the  verdict  will  be.  In  truth— and  it  must  be 
told  once  in  a  while,  even  in  our  atmosphere — the  only  loss 
is  the  two  votes,  which  the  candidate  had  already  secured 
with  his  meat  and  drink,  and  which  have  now,  he  regrets, 
been  returned  to  the  box  of  death  instead  of  his  ballot.  Poor 
voters,  now  only  fit  to  serve  the  vilest  purpose !  how  degraded 
in  the  scale  of  human  nature  is  the  being,  only  worth  a  suf- 
france  at  elections,  where  votes  cast  from  impulse  control  the 
balance  of  power.  Such  beings  are  worth  just  no  thing  ;  they 
would  not  sell  in  the  market.  The  negro  waiters  say,  "It  don't 
make  a  bit  of  matter  how  much  white  rubbish  like  this  is 
killed,  it  won't  fetch  a  bid  in  the  market ;  and  when  you 
sell  it,  it  won't  stay  sold." 

"  Lose  I  dat  way,  Cato,  might  jist  as  well  take 
tousand  dollar  straight  out  o'  mas'r's  pocket;  but  dese 
critters  b'nt  notin'  nohow,"  says  old  Daniel,  one  of  the 
servants,  who  knows  the  value  of  his  own  body  quite  well. 
Daniel  exults  as  he  looks  upon  the  dead  bodies  he  is  assisting 
to  deposit  in  the  corn-shed. 

Mr.  M'Fadden  is  carefully  borne  into  the  tavern,  where, 
after  much  difficulty,  he  is  got  up  stairs  and  laid  on  a  very 
nice  bed,  spread  with  snowy  white  linen.  A  physician  is 
called,  and  his  wound  dressed  with  all  possible  skill  and 
attention.  He  is  in  great  pain,  however ;  begs  his  friends  to 
bestow  all  care  upon  him,  and  save  no  expense. 

Thus  ends  our  political  day.  The  process  of  making  power 
to  shape  the  social  and  political  weal  of  our  State,  closes. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

MB.  M'FADDEN  SEES  SHADOWS  IN  THE  FUTURE. 

NIGHT  has  quickly  drawn  its  curtain  over  the  scene.  Mr. 
M'Fadden  lies  on  his  bed,  writhing  under  the  pain  of  the 
poisoned  wound.  He  left  his  preacher  locked  up  for  the 
night  in  a  cold  hovel,  and  he  has  secured  the  dangerous 
Bible,  lest  it  lessen  his  value.  Mr.  M'Fadden,  however, 
feels  that  now  his  earthly  career  is  fast  closing  he  must 
seek  redemption.  He  has  called  in  the  aid  of  a  physician, 
who  tells  him  there  is  great  danger,  and  little  hope  unless 
his  case  takes  a  favourable  turn  about  midnight.  The  pro 
fessional  gentleman  merely  suggests  this,  but  the  suggestion 
conveys  an  awful  warning.  All  the  misdeeds  of  the  past 
cloud  before  his  eyes ;  they  summon  him  to  make  his  peace 
with  his  Maker.  He  remembers  what  lias  been  told  him 
about  the  quality  of  mercy, — the  duration  of  hope  in 
redemption, — which  he  may  secure  by  rendering  justice 
to  those  he  has  wronged.  But  now  conscience  wars  with 
him  ;  he  sees  the  fierce  elements  of  retribution  gathering 
their  poisoned  shafts  about  him  ;  he  quails  lest  their  points 
pierce  his  heart ;  and  he  sees  the  God  of  right  arraigning 
him  at  the  bar  of  justice.  There,  that  Dispenser  of  all  Good 
sits  in  his  glory  and  omnipotence,  listening  while  the 
oppressed  recites  his  sufferings :  the  oppressed  there  meets 
him  face  to  face,  robed  in  that  same  garb  of  submission  which 
he  lias  inflicted  upon  him  on  earth.  His  fevered  brain  gives 
out  strange  warnings, — warnings  in  which  he  sees  the 
angel  of  light  unfolding  the  long  list  of  his  injustice  to 
his  fellow  man,  and  an  angry  God  passing  the  awful 
sentence.  Writhing,  turning,  and  contorting  his  face,  his 
very  soul  burns  with  the  agony  of  despair.  He  grasps  the 
hand  of  his  physician,  who  leans  over  his  wounded  body,  and, 
with  eyes  distorted  and  glassy,  stares  wildly  and  frantically 
round  the  room.  Again,  as  if  suffering  inward  torture,  he 
springs  from  his  pillow,  utters  fierce  imprecations  against 
the  visions  that  surround  him,  grasps  at  them  with  his  out- 


292      ME.  M'FADDEN  SEES  SHADOWS  OF  THE  FTTTTTBE. 

stretched  fingers,  motions  his  hand  backward  and  forward, 
and  breaks  out  into  violent  paroxysms  of  passion,  as  if 
struggling  in  the  unyielding  grasp  of  death. 

That  physical  power  which  has  so  long  borne  him  up  in 
his  daily  pursuits  yields  to  the  wanderings  of  his  haunted 
mind.  He  lays  his  hand  upon  the  physician's  shoulder  as 
his  struggles  now  subside,  looks  mournfully  in  his  face,  and 
rather  mutters  than  speaks  :  "  Bring — bring — bring  him 
here:  I'll  see  him, — I  must  see  him!  I — I — I  took  away 
the  book ;  there's  what  makes  the  sting  worse  !  And  when 
I  close  my  eyes  I  see  it  burning  fiercely 

"  Who  shall  I  bring  ?"  interrupts  the  physician,  mildly, 
endeavouring  to  soothe  his  feelings  by  assuring  him  there  is 
no  danger,  if  he  will  but  remain  calm. 

"  Heaven  is  casting  its  thick  vengeance  round  me ;  heaven 
is  consuming  me  with  the  fire  of  my  own  heart !  How  can 
I  be  calm,  and  my  past  life  vaulted  with  a  glow  of  fire  ? 
The  finger  of  Almighty  Grod  points  to  that  deed  I  did  to 
day.  I  deprived  a  wretch  of  his  only  hope :  that  wretch 
can  forgive  me  before  heaven.  T-e-s,  he  can, — can  speak 
for  me, — can  intercede  for  me ;  he  can  sign  my  repentance, 
and  save  me  from  the  just  vengeance  of  heaven.  His — 
his— his " 

""What?"  the  physician  whispers,  putting  his  ear  to  his 
mouth.     "Becalm." 
'  "  Calm !"  he  mutters  in  return. 

"  Neither  fear  death  nor  be  frightened  at  its  shadows — " 

"  It's  life,  life,  life  I  fear — not  death !"  he  gurgles  out.  "  Bring 
him  to  me ;  there  is  the  Bible.  Oh !  how  could  I  have  robbed 
him  of  it !  'Twas  our  folly— all  folly— my  folly ! "  Mr.  M'Fad- 
den  had  forgotten  that  the  bustle  of  current  life  was  no  excuse 
for  his  folly ;  that  it  would  be  summed  up  against  him  in  the 
day  of  trouble.  He  never  for  once  thought  that  the  Bible  and 
its  teachings  were  as  dear  to  slave  as  master,  and  that  its  truths 
were  equally  consoling  in  the  hour  of  death.  In  life  it  strength 
ens  man's  hopes ;  could  it  have  been  thus  with  M'Fadden  before 
death  placed  its  troubled  sea  before  his  eyes,  how  happy  he 
would  have  died  in  the  Lord ! 

The  emphatic  language,  uttered  in  such  supplicating  tones, 
and  so  at  variance  with  his  habits  of  life,  naturally  excited 
the  feelings  of  his  physician,  whose  only  solicitude  had  been 


MB.  M'FA.DDEH   SEES  SHADOWS  OF  THE  FUTURE.         293 

evinced  in  his  efforts  to  save  life, — to  heal  the  wound. 
Isever  had  he  watched  at  a  patient's  bed-side  who  had 
exhibited  such  convulsions  of  passion, — such  fears  of  death. 

JSlovr  struggling  against  a  storm  of  convulsions,  then 
subsiding  into  sluggish  writhings,  accompanied  with  low 
moans,  indicating  more  mental  disquietude  than  bodily  pain. 
Again  he  is  quiet ;  points  to  his  coat. 

The  physician  brings  it  forward  and  lays  it  upon  the  bed, 
where  Mr.  M'Fadden  can  put  his  hand  upon  it.  "  It  is 
there — in  there  !"  he  says,  turning  on  his  left  side,  and 
with  a  solicitous  look  pointing  to  the  pocket?  of  his  coat. 
The  professional  gentleman  does  not  understand  him. 

He  half  raises  himself  on  his  pillow,  but  sinks  back 
fatigued,  and  faintly  whispers,  "Oh,  take  it  to  him — to  him! 
Give  him  the  comforter :  bring  him,  poor  fellow,  to  me,  that 
his  spirit  may  be  my  comforter  !" 

The  physician  understands,  puts  his  hand  into  the  pocket ; 
draws  forth  the  little  boon  companion.  It  is  the  Bible,  book 
of  books ;  its  great  truths  have  borne  Harry  through  many 
trials, — he  hopes  it  will  be  his  shield  and  buckler  to  carry  him 
through  many  more.  Its  associations  are  as  dear  to  him 
as  its  teachings  are  consoling  in  the  days  of  tribulation. 
It  is  dear  to  him,  because  the  promptings  of  a  noble-hearted 
woman  secretly  entrusted  it  to  his  care,  in  violation  of 
slavery's  statutes.  Its  well-worn  pages  bear  testimony  of 
the  good  service  it  has  done.  It  was  Franconia's  gift 
-Franconia,  whose  tender  emotions  made  her  the  friend  of 
the  slave — made  in  the  kindness  of  woman's  generous 
nature.  The  good  example,  when  contrasted  with  the  fierce 
tenor  of  slavery's  fears,  is  worthy  many  followers. 

But  men  seldom  profit  by  small  examples,  especially 
when  great  fear3  are  paramount. 

The  physician,  holding  the  good  book  in  his  hand,  enquires 
if  Mr.  M'Fadden  would  have  him  read  from  it  ?  He  has  no 
answer  to  make,  turns  his  feverish  face  from  it,  closes  his 
eyes,  and  compressing  his  forehead  with  his  hands,  mutely 
shakes  his  head.  A  minute  or  two  passes  in  silence ;  he  has 
re-considered  the  point, — answers,  no !  He  wants  Harry 
brought  to  him,  that  he  may  acknowledge  his  crimes  ;  that 
he  may  quench  the  fire  of  unhappiness  burning  within  him. 
"  How  seldom  we  think  of  death  while  in  life, — and  how 
painful  to  see  death  while  gathering  together  the  dross  of 


294     ME.  M'FADDEN  SEES  SHADOWS  OF  TIIE  FUTUHE. 

this  worldly  chaos !  Great,  great,  great  is  the  reward  of 
the  good,  and  mighty  is  the  hand  of  Omnipotence  that,  hold 
ing  the  record  of  our  sins,  warns  us  to  prepare."  As  Mr. 
M 'Madden  utters  these  words,  a  coloured  woman  enters  the 
room  to  enquire  if  the  patient  wants  nourishment.  She 
will  wait  at  the  door. 

The  physician  looks  at  the  patient ;  the  patient  shakes 
his  head  and  whispers,  "  Only  the  boy.  The  boy  I  bought 
to-day."  The  Bible  lays  at  his  side  on  the  sheet.  He 
points  to  it,  again  whispering,  "  The  boy  I  took  it  from  !" 

The  boy,  the  preacher,  Mr.  MTadden's  purchase,  can 
read ;  she  will  know  him  by  that ;  she  must  bring  him 
from  the  shed,  from  his  cold  bed  of  earth.  That  crime  of 
slavery  man  wastes  his  energies  to  make  right,  is  wrong  in 
the  sight  of  heaven  ;  our  patient  reads  the  glaring  testimony 
as  the  demons  of  his  morbid  fancy  haunt  him  with  their 
damning  terrors,  their  ghastly  visages. 

"  Gro,  woman,  bring  him  !"  he  whispers  again. 

Almost  motionless  the  woman  stands.  She  has  seen  the 
little  book — she  knows  it,  and  her  eyes  wander  over  the 
inscription  on  the  cover.  A  deep  blush  shadows  her  coun 
tenance  ;  she  fixes  her  piercing  black  eyes  upon  it  until 
they  seem  melting  into  sadness ;  with  a  delicacy  and 
reserve  at  variance  with  her  menial  condition,  she  approaches 
the  bed,  lays  her  hand  upon  the  book,  and,  while  the 
physician's  attention  is  attracted  in  another  direction, 
closes  its  pages,  and  is  about  to  depart. 

"  Can  you  tell  which  one  he  wants,  girl  ?"  enquires  the 
physician,  in  a  stern  voice. 

"  His  name,  I  think,  is  Harry ;  and  they  say  the  poor 
thing  can  preach ;  forgive  me  what  I  have  done  to  him, 
oh  Lord  !  It  is  the  weakness  of  man  grasping  the  things  of 
this  world,  to  leave  behind  for  the  world's  nothingness,"  says 
Mr.  M'Padden,  as  the  woman  leaves*  the  room  giving  an 
affirmative  reply. 

The  presence  of  the  Bible  surprised  the  woman ;  she 
knew  it  as  the  one  much  used  by  Harry,  on  Marston's  plan 
tation.  It  was  Franconia's  gift !  The  associations  of  the 
name  touched  the  chord  upon  which  hung  the  happiest 
incidents  of  her  life.  Retracing  her  steps  down  the  stairs, 
she  seeks  mine  host  of  the  tavern,  makes  known  the  demand, 
and  receives  the  keys  of  this  man-pen  of  our  land  of 


MB.  H'FADUEN  SEES  SHADOWS  OF  THE  FTJTTJEE.     295 

liberty.  Lantern  in  hand,  she  soon  reaches  the  door,  unlocks 
it  geutly,as  if  she  expects  the  approach  of  some  strange  object, 
and  fears  a  sudden  surprise. 

There  the  poor  dejected  wretches  lay ;  nothing  but 
earth's  surface  for  a  bed, — no  blanket  to  cover  them.  They 
have  eaten  their  measure  of  corn,  and  are  sleeping ;  they 
sleep  while  chivalry  revels !  Harry  has  drawn  his  hat 
partly  over  his  face,  and  made  a  pillow  of  the  little  bundle 
he  carried  under  his  arm. 

Passing  from  one  to  the  other,  the  woman  approaches 
him,  as  if  to  see  if  she  can  recognise  any  familiar  feature. 
She  stoops  over  him,  passes  the  light  along  his  body,  from 
head  to  foot,  and  from  foot  to  head.  "  Can  it  be  our 
Harry  ?"  she  mutters.  "  It  can't  be ;  master  wouldn't 
sell  him."  Her  eyes  glare  with  anxiety  as  they  wander  up 
and  down  his  sleeping  figure. 

"  Harry, — Harry, — Harry  !  which  is  Harry  ?"  she 
demands. 

Scarcely  has  she  lisped  the  words,  when  the  sleeper 
starts  to  his  feet,  and  sets  his  eyes  on  the  woman  with  a 
stare  of  wonderment.  His  mind  wanders — bewildered ;  is 
he  back  on  the  old  plantation  ?  That  cannot  be ;  they 
would  not  thus  provide  for  him  there.  "  Back  at  the  old 
home !  Oh,  how  glad  I  am :  yes,  my  home  is  there,  with 
good  old  master.  My  poor  old  woman ;  I've  nothing  for 
her,  nothing,"  he  says,  extending  his  hand  to  the  woman, 
and  again,  as  his  mind  regains  itself,  their  glances  become 
mutual ;  the  sympathy  of  two  old  associates  gushes  forth 
from  the  purest  of  fountains, — the  oppressed  heart. 

"  Harry — oh,  Harry  !  is  it  you  ?" 

"  Ellen !  my  good  Ellen,  my  friend,  and  old  master's 
friend !"  is  the  simultaneous  salutation. 

"  Sold  you,  too?"  enquires  Harry,  embracing  her  with  all 
the  fervour  of  a  father  who  has  regained  his  long-lost  child. 
She  throws  her  arms  about  his  neck,  and  clings  to  him,  as 
he  kisses,  and  kisses,  and  kisses  her  olive  brow. 

"  My  sale,  Harry,  was  of  little  consequence,-  but  why  did 
they  sell  you?  (Her  emotions  have  swollen  into  tears). 
You  must  tell  me  all,  to-night !  You  must  tell  me  of  my 
child,  my  Nicholas, — if  master  cares  for  him,  and  how  he 
looks,  grows,  and  acts.  Oh,  how  my  heart  beats  to  havo 
him  at  my  side ; — when,  when  will  that  day  come !  I 
would  have  him  with  me,  even  if  sold  for  the  purpose." 


296     MB.  M'FADDEN  SEES  SHADOWS  OF  THE  TTUTUEE. 

Tears  gush  down  her  cheeks,  as  Harry,  encircling  her  with 
his  arm,  whispers  words  of  consolation  in  her  ear. 

"  If  we  were  always  for  this  world,  Ellen,  our  lot  could  not 
be  borne.  But  heaven  has  a  recompense,  which  awaits  us 
in-  the  world  to  come.  Ellen  !— he  holds  her  from  him  and 
looks  intently  in  her  face— masters  are  not  to  blame  for  our 
sufferings, — the  law  is  the  sinner !  Hope  not,  seek  not  for 
common  justice,  rights,  privileges,  or  anything  else  while 
we  are  merchandise  among  men  who,  to  please  themselves, 
gamble  with  our  souls  and  bodies.  Takeaway  that  injus 
tice,  Ellen,  and  men  who  now  plead  our  unprofitable 
ness  would  hide  their  heads  with  shame.  Make  us  men,  and 
we  will  plead  our  own  cause ;  we  will  show  to  the  world 
that  we  are  men ;  black  men,  who  can  be  made  men  when 
they  are  not  made  merchandise."  Ellen  must  tell  him 
what  has  brought  her  here,  first !  He  notices  sad  changes 
in  her  countenance,  and  feels  anxious  to  listen  to  the  recital 
of  her  troubles. 

She  cannot  tell  him  now,  and  begs  that  lie  will  not  ask 
her,  as  the  recollection  of  them  fills  her  heart  with  sorrow. 
She  discloses  the  object  of  her  mission,  will  guide  him  to  his 
new  master,  who,  they  say,  is  going  to  die,  and  feels  very 
bad  about  it.  He  was  a  desperate  man  on  his  plantation, 
and  has  become  the  more  contrite  at  death's  call.  "  I  hope 
God  will  forgive  him  !" 

"  He  will ! — He  will !  He  is  forgiving,"  interrupts  Harry, 
hurriedly. 

Ellen  reconnoitres  tne  wearied  bodies  of  the  others  as 
they  lie  around.  "  Poor  wretches !  what  can  I  do  for 
them  ?"  she  says,  holding  the  lamp  over  them.  She  can 
do  but  little  for  them,  poor  girl.  The  will  is  good,  but 
the  wherewith  she  hath  not.  Necessity  is  a  hard  master ; 
none  know  it  better  than  the  slave  woman.  She 
will  take  Harry  by  the  hand,  and,  retracing  her  steps, 
usher  him  into  the  presence  of  the  wounded  man.  Press 
ing  his  hand  as  she  opens  the  door,  she  bids  him  good 
night,  and  retires  to  her  cabin.  "  Poor  Harry  !"  she  says, 
with  a  sigh. 

The  kind  woman  is  Ellen  Juvarna.  She  has  passed 
another  eventful  stage  of  her  eventful  life.  Mine  host, 
good  fellow,  bought  her  of  Mr.  O'Brodereque,  that's  all ! 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

HOW  THEY  STOLE  THE  PREACHER. 

THE  scenes  we  have  described  in  the  foregoing  chapter 
have  not  yet  been  brought  to  a  close.  In  and  about  the 
tavern  may  be  seen  groups  of  men,  in  the  last  stage  of 
muddled  mellowness,  the  rank  fumes  of  bad  liquor  making 
the  very  air  morbid.  Conclaves  of  grotesque  figures  are 
seated  in  the  veranda  and  drinking-room,  breaking  the 
midnight  stillness  with  their  stifled  songs,  their  frenzied 
congratulations,  their  political  jargon  ;  nothing  of  fatal  con 
sequence  would  seem  to  have  happened. 

"Did  master  send  for  me?  You've  risen  from  a  rag 
shop,  my  man  !"  interrupts  the  physician. 

"  Master  there — sorry  to  see  him  sick — owns  me."  Harry 
cast  a  subdued  look  on  the  bed  where  lay  his  late  purchaser. 

Harry's  appearance  is  not  the  most  prepossessing, — he 
might  have  been  taken  for  anything  else  but  a  minister  of 
the  gospel ;  though  the  quick  eye  of  the  southerner  readily 
detected  those  frank  and  manly  features  which  belong  to  a 
class  of  very  dark  men  who  exhibit  uncommon  natural 
genius. 

At  the  sound  of  Harry's  voice,  MTadden  makes  an 
effort  to  raise  himself  on  his  elbow.  The  loss  of  blood  has 
so  reduced  his  physical  power  that  his  effort  is  unsuccessful. 
He  sinks  back,  prostrate, — requests  the  physician  to  assist 
him  in  turning  over.  He  will  face  his  preacher.  Putting 
out  his  hand,  he  embraces  him  cordially, — motions  him  to  be 
seated. 

The  black  preacher,  that  article  of  men  merchandise,  takes 
a  seat  at  the  bed-side,  while  the  man  of  medicine  withdraws 
to  the  table.  The  summons  is  as  acceptable  to  Harry  as  it 
is  strange  to  the  physician,  who  has  never  before  witnessed 
so  strange  a  scene  of  familiarity  between  slave  and  master. 
All  is  silent  for  several  minutes.  Harry  looks  at  his  master, 
as  if  questioning  the  motive  for  which  he  is  summoned  into 
his  presence  ;  and  still  he  can  read  the  deep  anxiety  playing 


298  HOW  THEY  STOLE  THE  PKEACHER. 

upon  M'Fadden's  distorted  countenance.  At  length, 
Harry,  feeling  that  his  presence  may  be  intrusive,  breaks 
the  silence  by  enquiring  it'  there  is  anything  he  can  do  for 
master.  Mr.  M'Fadden  whispers  something,  lays  his 
trembling  hand  on  Harry's,  casts  a  meaning  glance  at  the 
physician,  and  seems  to  swoon.  Returning  to  his  bed-side, 
the  physician  lays  his  hand  upon  the  sick  man's  brow ;  he 
will  ascertain  the  state  of  his  system. 

"  Give — him — his — Bible,"  mutters  the  wounded  man, 
pointing  languidly  to  the  table.  "  Give  it  to  him  that  ho 
may  ask  God's  blessing  for  me — for  me — for  me, " 

The  doctor  obeys  his  commands,  and  the  wretch,  heart 
bounding  with  joy,  receives  back  his  inspiring  companion. 
It  is  dear  to  him,  and  with  a  smile  of  gratitude  invading  his 
countenance  he  returns  thanks.  There  is  pleasure  in  that 
little  book.  "  And  now,  Harry,  my  boy,"  says  M'Fadden, 
raising  his  hand  to  Harry's  shoulder,  and  looking  implor 
ingly  in  his  face  as  he  regains  strength ;  "forgive  what  I  have 
done.  I  took  from  you  that  whicla  was  most  dear  to  your 
feelings ;  I  took  it  from  you  when  the  wounds  of  your  heart 

were  gushing  with  grief "    He  makes  an  effort  to  say 

more,  but  his  voice  fails ;  he  will  wait  a  few  moments. 

The  kind  words  touch  Harry's  feelings;  tears  glistening 
in  his  eyes  tell  how  he  struggles  to  suppress  the  emotions 
of  his  heart.  "  Did  you  mean  my  wife  and  children, 
master?"  he  enquires. 

M'Fadden,  somewhat  regaining  strength,  replies  in  the 
affirmative.  He  acknowledges  to  have  seen  that  the  thing 
"  warn't  just  right."  His  imagination  has  been  wandering 
through  the  regions  of  heaven,  where,  he  is  fully  satisfied, 
there  is  no  objection  to  a  black  face.  God  has  made  a  great 
opening  in  his  eyes  and  heart  just  now.  He  sees  and 
believes  such  things  as  he  neither  saw  nor  believed  before  ; 
they  pass  like  clouds  before  his  eyes,  never,  never  to  be 
erased  from  his  memory,  Never  before  has  he  thought 
much  about  repentance ;  but  now  that  he  sees  heaven  on 
one  side  and  hell  on  the  other,  all  that  once  seemed  right  in 
bartering  and  selling  the  bodies  and  souls  of  men,  vanishes. 
There,  high  above  all,  is  the  vengeance  of  heaven  written 
in  letters  of  blood,  execrating  such  acts,  and  pointing  to 
the  retribution.  It  is  a  burning  consciousness  of  all  the 
suffering  he  has  inflicted  upon  his  negroes.  .Death,  awful 


HOW  THEY  STOLE  THE  PREACHER.  299 

monitor !  stares  him  in  the  face ;  it  holds  the  stern  realities 
of  truth  and  justice  before  him ;  it  tells  him  of  the  wrong, 
— points  him  to  the  right.  The  unbending  mandates 
of  .slave  law,  giving  to  man  power  to  debase  himself 
with  crimes  the  judicious  dare  not  punish,  are  being  con 
sumed  before  Omnipotence,  the  warning  voice  of  which  is 
calling  him  to  his  last  account. 

And  now  the  wounded  man  is  all  condescension,  hoping 
forgiveness !  His  spirit  has  yielded  to  Almighty  power ; 
he  no  longer  craves  for  property  in  man ;  no,  his  coarse 
voice  is  subdued  into  softest  accents.  He  whispers 
"coloured  man,"  as  if  the  merchandise  changed  as  his 
thoughts  are  brought  in  contact  with  revelations  of  the 
future. 

"  Take  the  Bible,  my  good  boy — take  it,  read  it  to  me, 
before  I  die.  Head  it,  that  it  may  convert  my  soul.  If  I 
have  neglected  myself  on  earth,  forgive  me ;  receive  my 
repentance,  and  let  me  be  saved  from  eternal  misery.  Bead, 
my  dear  good  boy, — M'Fadden  grasps  his  hand  tighter 
and  tighter — and  let  your  voice  be  a  warning  to  those  who 
never  look  beyond  earth  and  earth's  enjoyments."  The 
physician  thinks  his  patient  will  get  along  until  morning, 
and  giving  directions  to  the  attendants,  leaves  him. 

Harry  has  recovered  from  the  surprise  which  so  sudden  a 
change  of  circumstances  produced,  and  has  drawn  from  the 
patient  the  cause  of  his  suffering.  He  opens  the  restored 
Bible,  and  reads  from  it,  to  Mr.  M'Fadden's  satisfaction. 
He  reads  from  Job ;  the  words  producing  a  deep  effect  upon 
the  patient's  mind. 

The  wretched  preacher,  whose  white  soul  is  concealed 
beneath  black  skin,  has  finished  his  reading.  He  will  now 
address  himself  to  his  master,  in  the  following  simple 
manner. 

"  Master,  it  is  one  thing  to  die,  and  another  to  die  happy. 
It  is  one  thing  to  be  prepared  to  die,  another  to  forget  that 
we  have  to  die,  to  leave  the  world  and  its  nothingness  behind 
us.  But  you  are  not  going  to  die,  not  now.  Master,  the 
Lord  will  forgive  you  if  you,  make  your  repentance  durable. 
'Tis  only  the  tear  of  death  that  has  produced  the  change  on 
your  mind.  Do,  master !  learn  the  Lord ;  be  just  to  we 
poor  creatures,  for  the  Lord  now  tells  you  it  is  not  right  to 

buy  and  sell  us." 

J  20 


300  HOW  THEY  STOLE  THE  PEEA.CHEB. 

"  Buy  and  sell  you !"  interrupts  the  frightened  man, 
making  an  effort  to  rise  from  his  pillow  ;  "  that  I  never  will, 
man  nor  woman.  If  God  spares  my  life,  my  people  shall  be 
liberated ;  I  feel  different  on  that  subject,  now  !  The  dif 
ference  between  the  commerce  of  this  world  and  the  glory 
of  heaven  brightens  before  me.  I  was  an  ignorant  man  on 
all  religious  matters ;  I  only  wanted  to  be  set  right  in  the 
way  of  the  Lord, — that's  all."  Again  he  draws  his  face 
under  the  sheet,  writhing  with  the  pain  of  his  wound. 

"  I  wish  everybody  could  see  us  as  master  does,  about 
this  time ;  for  surely  God  can  touch  the  heart  of  the 
most  hardened.  But  master  ain't  going  to  die  so  soon 
as  he  thinks,"  mutters  Harry,  wiping  the  sweat  from 
his  face,  as  he  lays  his  left  hand  softly  upon  master's 
arm.  "  God  guide  us  in  all  coming  time,  and  make  us 
forget  the  retribution  that  awaits  our  sins  !"  he  concludes, 
with  a  smile  glowing  on  his  countenance. 

The  half  spoken  words    catch    upon   the  patient's  ear. 
He  starts  suddenly  from  his  pillow,  as  if  eager  to  receive  some 
favourable  intelligence.     "  Don't    you   think  my  case  dan 
gerous,  my  boy  ?     Do  you  know  how  deep  is  the  wound  ?" 
he  enquires,  his  glassy  eyes  staring  intently  at   Harry. 
"It  is  all  the  same,  master!"  is  the  reply. 
"  Give  me  your  hand  again — M'Fadden  grasps  his  hand 
and  seems  to  revive — pray  lor  me  now  ;  your  prayers  will  be 
received  into  heaven,  they  will  serve  me  there !" 

"  Ah,  master,"  says  Harry,  kindly,  interrupting  him  at 
this  juncture,  "  I  feel  more  than  ever  like  a  Christian. 
It  does  my  heart  good  to  hear  you  talk  so  true,  so  kind. 
How  different  from  yesterday!  then  I  was  a  poor  slave,  forced 
from  my  children,  with  nobody  to  speak  a  kind  word  for 
me ;  everybody  to  reckon  me  as  a  good  piece  of  property 
only.  I  forgive  you,  master — I  forgive  you ;  God  is  a 
loving  God,  and  will  forgive  you  also."  The  sick  man  is 
consoled ;  and,  while  his  preacher  kneels  at  his  bed-side, 
offering  up  a  prayer  imploring  forgiveness,  he  listens  to  the 
words  as  they  fall  like  cooling  drops  on  his  burning  soul.  The 
earnestness — the  fervency  and  pathos  of  the  words,  as  they 
gush  forth  from  the  lips  of  a  wretch,  produce  a  still  deeper 
effect  upon  the  wounded  man.  Nay,  there  is  even  a  chord 
loosened  in  his  heart ;  he  sobs  audibly.  "  Live  on  earth  so  as 
to  be  prepared  for  heaven ;  that  when  death  knocks  at  the 


HOW  THEY  STOLE  THE  PREA.CHEB.  801 

door  you  may  receive  him  as  a  welcome  guest.  But,  master ! 
you  cannot  meet  our  Father  in  heaven  while  the  sin  of 
selling  men  clings  to  your  garments.  Let  your  hair  grow 
grey  with  justice,  and  Gk>d  will  reward  you,"  he  concludes. 

"  True,  Harry  ;  true ! — he  lays  his  hand  on  the  black 
man's  shoulder,  is  about  to  rise— it  is  the  truth  plainly  told, 
and  nothing  more."  He  will  have  a  glass  of  water  to 
quench  his  thirst ;  Harry  must  bring  it  to  him,-  for  there 
is  consolation  in  his  touch.  Seized  with  another  pain,  he 
grasps  with  his  left  hand  the  arm  of  his  consoler,  works 
his  fingers  through  his  matted  hair,  breathes  violently,  con 
torts  his  face  haggardly,  as  if  suffering  acutely.  Harry  waits 
till  the  spasm  has  subsided,  then  calls  an  attendant  to  watch 
the  patient  while  he  goes  to  the  well.  This  done  he  proceeds 
into  the  kitchen  to  enquire  for  a  vessel.  Having  entered  that 
department  as  the  clock  strikes  two,  he  finds  Ellen  busily 
engaged  preparing  food  for  Mr.  M'Fadden's  property, 
which  is  yet  fast  secured  in  the  pen.  Feeling  himself  a 
little  more  at  liberty  to  move  about  unrestrained,  he 
procures  a  vessel,  fills  it  at  the  well,  carries  it  to  his  master's 
bed-side,  sees  him  comfortably  cared  for,  and  returns  to  the 
kitchen,  where  he  will  assist  Ellen  in  her  mission  of 
goodness. 

The  little  pen  is  situated  a  few  yards  from  the  tavern,  on 
the  edge  of  a  clump  of  tall  pines. 

Ellen  has  got  ready  the  corn  and  bacon,  and  with  Harry 
she  proceeds  to  the  pen,  where  the  property  are  still  enjoy 
ing  that  inestimable  boon, — a  deep  sleep. 

"Always  sleeping,"  he  says,  waking  them  one  by  one  at 
the  announcement  of  corn  and  bacon.  "  Start  up  and  get 
something  good  my  girl  has  prepared  for  you."  He  shakes 
them,  while  Ellen  holds  toe  lantern.  There  is  something 
piercing  in  the  summons — meats  are  strong  arguments  with 
the  slave  — they  start  from  their  slumbers,  seize  upon  the 
food,  and  swallow  it  with  great  relish.  Harry  and  Ellen 
stand  smiling  over  the  gusto  with  which  they  swallow  their 
coarse  meal. 

"  You  must  be  good  boys  to-night.  Old  master's  sick ; 
flat  down  on  e'  back,  and'spects  he's  going  to  die,  he  does." 
Harry  shakes  his  head  as  he  tells  it  to  the  astonished  mer 
chandise.  "  Had  a  great  time  at  the  crossing  to-day ;  killed 
two  or  three  certain,  and  almost  put  master  on  the  plank." 


802  HOW  THEY  STOLE  THE  PREACHER. 

"  '  Twarn't  no  matter,  nohow :  nobody  lose  nofin  if  old 
Boss  do  die :  nigger  on  e'  plantation  don'  put  e'  hat  in 
mournin',''  mutters  the  negro  woman,  with  an  air  of  hatred. 
She  has  eaten  her  share  of  the  meal,  shrugs  her  shoulders, 
and  again  stretches  her  valuable  body  on  the  ground. 

"  Uncle  Sparton  know'd  old  Boss  warn't  gwine  t'  be  whar 
de  debil  couldn't  cotch  'em,  so  long  as  'e  tink.  If  dat  old 
mas'r  debil,  what  white  man  talk  'bout  so  much,  don'  gib 
'em  big  roasting  win  'e  git  'e  dab,  better  hab  no  place  wid 
fireins  fo'  such  folks,"  speaks  up  old  Uncle  Sparton,  one  of 
the  negroes,  whose  face  shiues  like  a  black-balled  boot. 

"  Neber  mind  dat,  Uncle  Sparton;  'taint  what  ye  say 
'bout  he.  Ven  rnas'r  debil  cotch  old  Boss  'e  don't  cotch  no 
fool.  Mas'r  debil  down  yander  find  old  Boss  too  tuf  fo'  he 
business ;  he  jus'  like  old  hoss  what  neber  die,"  rejoins 
another. 

In  a  word,  MTadden  had  told  his  negroes  what  a  great 
democrat  he  was — how  he  loved  freedom  and  a  free  country — 
until  their  ideas  of  freedom  became  strangely  mystified  ;  and 
they  ventured  to  assert  that  he  would  not  find  so  free  a 
country  when  the  devil  became  his  keeper.  "  Mas'r  tink  'e 
carry  'e  plantation  t'  t'oder  world  wid  him,  reckon,"  Uncle 
Sparton  grumblingly  concludes,  joining  the  motley  conclave 
of  property  about  to  resume  its  repose. 

Ellen  returns  to  the  house.  Harry  will  remain,  and  have 
a  few  words  more  with  the  boys.  A  few  minutes  pass,  and 
Ellen  returns  with  an  armful  of  blankets,  with  which  she 
covers  the  people  carefully  and  kindly.  How  full  of  good 
ness — how  touching  is  the  act !  She  has  done  her  part,  and 
she  returns  to  the  house  in  advance  of  Harry,  who  stops  to 
take  a  parting  good-night,  and  whisper  a  word  of  consola 
tion  in  their  ears.  He  looks  upon  them  as  dear  brothers  in 
distress,  objects  for  whom  he  has  a  fellow  sympathy.  He 
leaves  them  for  the  night ;  closes  the  door  after  him  ;  locks 
it.  He  will  return  to  Ellen,  and  enjoy  a  mutual  exchange 
of  feeling.. 

Scarcely  has  he  left  the  door,  when  three  persons,  dis 
guised,  rush  upon  him,  muffle  his  head  with  a  blanket,  bind 
his  hands  and  feet,  throw  him.  bodily  into  a  waggon,  and 
drive  away  at  a  rapid  speed. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

COMPETITION    IN  HUMAN    THINGS. 

IT  is  enough  to  inform  the  reader  that  Romescos  and  Mr. 
M'Fadden  were  not  only  rival  bidders  for  this  very  desir 
able  piece  of  preaching  property,  but,  being  near  neighbours, 
had  become  inveterate  enemies  and  fierce  political  oppo 
nents.  The  former,  a  reckless  trader  in  men,  women,  and 
children,  was  a  daring,  unprincipled,  and  revengeful  man, 
whose  occupation  seldom  called  him  to  his  plantation  ;  while 
the  latter  was  notorious  as  a  hard  master  and  a  cruel  tyrant, 
who  exacted  a  larger  amount  of  labour  from  his  negroes 
than  his  fellow  planters,  and  gave  them  less  to  eat.  His 
opinion  was,  that  a  peck  of  corn  a  week  was  quite  enough 
for  a  negro ;  and  this  was  his  systematic  allowance  ; — but 
he  otherwise  tempted  the  appetites  of  his  property,  by  driv 
ing  them,  famished,  to  the  utmost  verge  of  necessity.  Thus 
driven  to  predatory  acts  in  order  to  sustain  life,  the  advan 
tages  offered  by  Romescos'  swamp — generally  well  sprinkled 
with  swine — were  readily  appropriated  to  a  very  good  use. 

Under  covert  of  Romescos'  absence,  Mr.  MTadden  had 
no  very  scrupulous  objection  to  his  negroes  foraging  the 
amply  provided  swamp, — provided,  however,  they  did  the 
thing  on  the  sly,  were  careful  whose  porker  they  dispatched, 
and  said  nothing  to  him  about  the  eating.  In.  fact,  it  was 
simply  a  matter  of  economy  with  Mr.  M'Fadden ;  and  as 
Romescos  had  a  great  number  of  the  obstinate  brutes,  it 
saved  the  trouble  of  raising  such  undignified  stock.  Find 
ing,  however,  that  neighbour  MTadden,  or  his  predatory 
negroes— such  they  were  called — were  laying  claim  to  more 
than  a  generous  share  of  their  porkships,  Romescos  thought 
it  high  time  to  put  the  thing  down  by  a  summary  process. 
But  what  particularly  "  riled"  Romescos  in  this  affair  of 
the  hogs  was,  that  M'Fadden's  negroes  were  not  content 
with  catching  them  in  an  honourable  way,  but  would  do  it 
through  the  agency  of  nasty  cur-dogs,  which  he  always  bad 
despised,  and  held  as  unfit  even  to  hunt  niggers  with. 


304  COMPETITION    IN    HUMAN  THINGS, 

Several  times  had  he  expressed  his  willingness  to  permit  a 
small  number  of  his  grunters  to  be  captured  for  the  benefit 
of  his  neighbour's  half-starved  negroes,  provided,  always, 
they  were  hunted  with  honourable  hound-dogs.  He  held 
such  animals  in  high  esteem,  while  curs  he  looked  iipon  with 
utter  contempt ;  he  likened  the  one  to  the  chivalrous  old 
rice-planter,  the  other  to  a  pettifogging  schoolmaster,  fit  for 
nothing  but  to  be  despised  and  shot.  With  these  feelings  he 
(Komescos)  declared  his  intention  to  kill  the  very  first  negro 
he  caught  in  his  swamp  with  cur-dogs ;  and  he  kept  his 
word.  Lying  in  ambush,  he  would  await  their  approach, 
and,  when  most  engaged  in  appropriating  the  porkers,  rush 
from  his  hiding-place,  shoot  the  dogs,  and  then  take  a  turn 
at  the  more  exhilarating  business  of  shooting  the  negroes. 
He  would,  with  all  possible  calmness,  command  the  Iright- 
ened  property  to  approach  and  partake  of  his  peculiar  mix 
ture,  administered  from  his  double-barrel  gun. 

That  the  reader  may  better  understand  liomescos'  process 
of  curing  this  malady  of  his  neighbour's  negroes,  we  will 
give  it  as  related  by  himself.  It  is  a  curious  mode  of 
dispatching  negro  property ;  the  reader,  however,  cannot 
fail  to  comprehend  it.  "  Plantin'  didn't  suit  my  notions  o' 
gittin'  rich,  ye  see,  so  I  spec'lates  in  nigger  property,  and 
makes  a  better  thing  on't.  But  there's  philosophy  about 
the  thing,  and  a  body's  .got  t'  know  the  hang  on't  afore  he 
can  twist  it  out  profitably ;  so  I  keeps  a  sort  of  a  plantation 
just  to  make  a  swell ;  cos  ye  got  to  make  a  splash  to  be 
anybody  down  south.  Can't  be  a  gentleman,  ye  see,  'cept 
ye  plants  cotton  and  rice ;  and  then  a  feller  what's  got  a 
plantation  in  this  kind  of  a  way  can  be  a  gentleman,  and 
do  so  many  other  bits  of  trade  to  advantage.  The  thing 
works  like  the  handle  of  a  pump ;  and  then  it  makes  a  right 
good  place  for  raising  youcg  niggers,  and  gettin'  old  uns 
trimmed  up.  With  me,  the  worst  thing  is  that  old  screw 
driver,  M'Eadden,  what  don't  care  no  more  for  the  wear 
and  tear  of  a  nigger  than  nothin',  and  drives  'em  like  as 
many  steam-engines  he  thinks  he  can  keep  going  by  feeding 
on  saw-dust.  He  han't  no  conception  o'  nigger  constitu 
tion,  and  is  just  the  worst  sort  of  a  chap  that  ever  cum 
south  to  get  a  fortune.  Why,  look  right  at  his  niggers : 
they  look  like  crows  after  corn-shuckin.  Don't  give  'em 
no  meat,  and  the  critters  must  steal  somethin'  t'  keep  out 


COMPETITION    IN  HUMAN  THINGS.  305 

o'  the  bune-yard.  Well,  I  argers  the  case  with  Mack,  tells 
him  how  t'll  be  atweeu  he  and  me  on  this  thing,  and  warns 
him  that  if  he  don't  chunk  more  corn  and  grease  into  hia 
niggers,  there  '11  be  a  ruptous  fuss.  But  he  don't  stand  on 
honour,  as  I  does,  especially  when  his  property  makes  a  haul 
on  my  swamp  of  shoats.  I  an't  home  often;  so  the  hogs 
suffer  ;  and  Mack's  niggers  get  the  pork.  This  'ere  kind  o' 
business" — B-omescos  maintains  the  serious  dignity  of  him 
self  the  while — "  don't  go  down  nohow  with  me  ;  so  Mack 
and  me  just  has  a  bit  of  a  good-natured  quarrel ;  and  from 
that  we  gets  at  daggers'  points,  and  I  swears  how  I'll  kill 
the  first  nigger  o'  his'n  what  steals  hogs  o'  mine.  Wouldn't 
a  cared  a  sous,  mark  ye,  but  it  cum  crossways  on  a  feller's 
feelins  to  think  how  the  'tarnal  niggers  had  no  more  sense 
than  t'  hunt  hogs  o'  mine  with  cur-dogs :  bin  hounds,  ho 
nourable  dogs,  or  respectable  dogs  what  '11  do  to  hunt  nig 
gers  with,  wouldn't  a  cared  a  toss  about  it ;  but — when — I — 
hears — a  cur-dog  yelp,  oh !  hang  me  if  it  don't  set  my  sen 
sations  all  on  pins,  just  as  somethin'  was  crucifyin'  a  feller. 
I  warns  and  talks,  and  then  pleads  like  a  lawyer  what's  got 
a  bad  case  ;  but  all  to  no  end  o'  reformin'  Mack's  morals,— 
feller  han't  got  no  sense  o'  reform  in  him.  So  I  sets  my 
niggers  on  the  scent — it  gives  'em  some  fun — and  swears 
I'll  kill  a  nigger  for  every  hog  he  steals.  This  I  concludes 
on  ;  and  I  never  backs  out  when  once  I  fixes  a  conclusion. 

"  Hears  the  infernal  cur-dog's  yelp,  yelp,  yelp,  down  in 
the  swamp ;  then  I  creeps  through  the  jungle  so  sly,  lays 
low  till  the  fellers  cum  up,  all  jumpin' — pig  ahead,  then  dogs, 
niggers  follerin',  puffin'  and  blowin',  eyes  poppin'  out, 
'most  out  o'  breath,  just  as  if  they  tasted  the  sparerib 
afore  they'd  got  the  critter. 

"  Well,  ye  see,  I  know'd  all  the  ins  and  outs  of  the  law, 
— keeps  mighty  shy  about  all  the  judicial  quibbles  on't, — 
never  takes  nobody  with  me  whose  swearin'  would  stand 
muster  in  a  court  of  law.  All  right  on  that  score  (Romes- 
cos  exults  in  his  law  proficiency).  I  makes  sure  o'  the  dogs 
fust,  oilers  keepin'  the  double-barrel  on  the  right  eye  for 
the  best  nigger  in  the  lot.  It  would  make  the  longest-faced 
deacon  in  the  district  laugh  to  see  the  fire  flash  out  o'  the 
nigger's  big  black  eyes,  when  he  sees  the  cur  drop,  knowin' 
how  he'll  get  the  next  plugs  souced  into  him.  It's  only 
nat'ral,  cos  it  would  frighten  a  feller  what  warn't  used  to  it 


306  COMPETITION    IN    HUMAN  THINGS. 

just  to  see  what  a  thunder-cloud  of  agitation  tho  nigger 
screws  his  black  face  into.  And  then  he  starts  to  run, 
and  puts  it  like  streaks  o'  cannon-balls  chased  by  express 
lightnin'. 

"  '  Stand  still,  ye  thievin'  varmint !  hold  up, — bring  to  a 
mooring :  take  the  mixture  according  to  G-unter !'  I  shouts. 
The  way  the  nigger  pulls  up,  begs,  pleads,  and  says  things 
what'll  touch  a  feller's  tender  feelins,  aiut  no  small  kind  of 
an  institution.  'Twould  just  make  a  man  what  had  stretchy 
conscience  think  there  was  somethin'  crooked  somewhere. 
'  Well,  boys,'  says  I,  feeling  a  little  soft  about  the  stomach, 
•  seeing  how  it's  yer  Boss  what  don't  feed  ye,  I'll  be  kind  o' 
good,  and  give  ye  a  dose  of  the  mixture  in  an  honourable 
way.'  Then  I  loads  t'other  barrel,  the  feller's  eyes  flashin' 
streaks  of  blue  lightnin'  all  the  time,  lookin'  at  how  I 
rams  it  down,  chunk !  '  Now,  boys,'  says  I,  when  the  plugs* 
is  all  ready,  'there's  system  'bout  this  ere  thing  a'  mine — 
t'aint  killln'  ye  I  wants, — don't  care  a  copper  about  that 
(there  an't  no  music  in  that),  but  must  make  it  bring  the 
finances  out  a'  yer  master's  pocket.  That's  the  place  where 
he  keeps  all  his  morals.  Now,  run  twenty  paces  and  I'll 
gin  ye  a  fair  chance !'  The  nigger  understands  me,  ye  see, 
and  moves  off,  as  if  he  expected  a  thunderbolt  at  his  heel, 
lookin'  back  and  whining  like  a  puppy  what's  lost  his 
mother.  Just  when  he  gets  to  an  honourable  distance, — say 
twenty  paces,  according  to  fighting  rule, — I  draws  up,  takes 
aim,  and  plumps  the  plugs  into  him.  The  way  the  critter 
jumps  reminds  me  of  a  circus  rider  vaultin'  and  turnin' 
sumersets.  You'd  think  he  was  inginrubber  'lectrified. 
A'ter  all,  I  finds  these  playiu'  doses  don't  do ;  they  don't 
settle  things  on  the  square.  So  I  tries  a  little  stronger  mix 
ture,  which  ends  in  killin'  three  o'  Mack's  niggers  right  up 
smooth.  But  the  best  on't  is  that  Mack  finds  he  han't  no 
proof,  goes  right  into  it  and  kills  three  o'  my  prime  fat 
niggers :  that  makes  us  bad  friends  on  every  score.  But  he 
got  a  nigger  ahead  o'  me  a' ter  awhile,  and  I  ware  detarmined 
to  straighten  accounts,  if  it  was  by  stealin'  the  odds.  Them 
ar's  my  principles,  and  that's  just  the  way  I  settles  accounts 
with  folks  what  don't  do  the  square  thing  in  the  way  o' 
nigger  property." 

Thua  the  two  gentlemen  lived  in  the  terror  of  internal 

*  Shot. 


COMPETITION   IN   HUMAN  THINGS.  307 

war ;  and  Romescos,  seeing  sucli  a  fine  piece  of  property 
pass  into  the  hands  of  his  antagonist,  resolved  on  squaring 
accounts  by  stealing  the  preacher, — an  act  Mr.  M'Fadden 
least  expected. 

The  candidates'  festival  offered  every  facility  for  carrying 
this  singular  coup-cTetat  into  effect.  Hence,  with  the 
skilful  assistance  of  Nath.  Nimrod,  and  Dan  Bengal,  Harry 
was  very  precipitately  and  dexterously  passed  over  to  the 
chances  of  a  new  phase  of  slave  life. 

Ellen  waited  patiently  for  Harry's  return  until  it  became 
evident  some  ill-luck  had  befallen  him.  Lantern  in  hand, 
she  proceeds  to  the  pen  in  search.  No  Harry  is  to  be  found 
there ;  Mr.  M'Fadden's  common  negroes  only  are  there, 
and  they  sleep  sweetly  and  soundly.  What  can  have 
befallen  him  ?  She  conjectures  many  things,  none  of  which 
are  the  right.  The  lock  is  upon  the  door ;  all  is  still  outside ; 
no  traces  of  kidnapping  can  be  found.  She  knows  his 
faithfulness, — knows  he  would  not  desert  his  master  unless* 
some  foul  means  had  been  used  to  decoy  him  into  trouble. 
She  returns  to  the  house  and  acquaints  her  master. 

Straggling  members,  who  had  met  to  enjoy  the  generous 
political  banquet,  and  who  still  remain  to  see  the  night 
"  through"  with  appropriate  honour,  are  apprised  of  the 
sudden  disappearance  of  this  very  valuable  piece  of  property. 
They  are  ready  for  any  turn  of  excitement, — anything  for 
"  topping  off"  with  a  little  amusement ;  and  to  this  end  they 
immediately  gather  round  mine  host  in  a  party  of  pursuit. 
Komescos- he  must  make  his  innocence  more  imposing- 
has  been  conspicuous  during  the  night,  at  times  expressing 
sympathy  for  Mr.  M'Eadden,  and  again  assuring  the  com 
pany  that  he  haa  known  fifty  worse  cases  cured.  In  order 
to  make  this  better  understood,  he  will  pay  the  doctor's 
bill  if  M'Fadden  dies.  Mine  host  has  no  sooner  given  the 
alarm  than  Honiescos  expresses  superlative  surprise.  He 
was  standing  in  the  centre  of  a  conclave  of  men,  whom  he 
harangues  on  the  particular  political  points  necessary  for 
the  candidates  to  support  in  order  to  maintain  the  honour 
of  the  State  ;  now  he  listens  to  mine  host  as  he  recounts  the 
strange  absence  of  the  preacher,  pauses  and  combs  his  long 
red  beard  with  his  fingers,  looks  distrustfully,  and  then 
says,  with  a  quaintness  that  disarmed  suspicion,  "  Nigger- 
like  ! — preacher  or  angel,  nigger  will  be  nigger !  The  idea 


308  COMPETITION    IN    HUMAN  THINGS. 

o'  makin'  the  black  rascals  preachers,  thinkin'  they  won't 
run  away  !  Now,  fellers,  that  ar'  chap's  skulkin'  about,  not 
far  off,  out  among  the  pines ;  and  here's  my  two  dogs — he 
points  to  his  dogs,  stretched  on  the  floor- — what'll  scent 
him  and  bring  him  out  afore  ten  minutes !  Don't  say  a 
word  to  Mack  about  it;  don't  let  it  'scape  yer  fly-trap,  cos 
they  say  he's  got  a  notion  o'  dying,  and  suddenly  changed 
his  feelins  'bout  nigger  tradin'.  There's  no  tellin'  how  it 
would  affect  the  old  democrat  if  he  felt  he  warut  goin'  to 
slip  his  breeze.  This  child — Romescos  refers  to  himself- 
felt  just  as  Mack  does  more  nor  a  dozen  times,  when  Davy 
Jones  looked  as  if  he  was  making  slight  advances :  a  feller 
soon  gets  straight  again,  nevertheless.  It's  only  the 
difference  atween  one's  feelings  about  makin'  money  when 
he's  well,  and  thiukin'  how  he  made  it  when  he's  about  to 
bid  his  friends  good  morning  and  leave  town  for  awhile. 
Anyhow,  there  aint  no  dodging  now,  fellers !  We  got  to 
hunt  up  the  nigger  afore  daylight,  so  let  us  take  a  drop 
more  and  be  moving."  He  orders  the  landlord  to  set  on 
the  decanters, — they  join  in  a  social  glass,  touch  glasses  to 
the  recovery  of  the  nigger,  and  then  rush  out  to  the  pursuit. 
Romescos  heads  the  party.  With  dogs,  horses,  guns,  and  all 
sorts  of  negro-hunting  apparatus,  they  scour  the  pine- 
grove,  the  swamp,  and  the  heather.  They  make  the  pursuit 
of  man  full  of  interest  to  those  who  are  fond  of  the  chase ; 
they  allow  their  enthusiasm  to  bound  in  unison  with  the 
sharp  baying  of  the  dogs. 

For  more  than  two  hours  is  this  exhilarating  sport  kept 
up.  It  is  sweet  music  to  their  ears  ;  they  have  been  trained 
(educated)  to  the  fascination  of  a  man-hunt,  and  dogs  and 
men  become  wearied  with  the  useless  search. 

E-omescos  declares  the  nigger  is  near  at  hand :  he  sees 
the  dogs  curl  down  their  noses ;  he  must  be  somewhere  in 
a  hole  or  jungle  of  the  swamp,  and,  with  more  daylight  and 
another  dog  or  two,  his  apprehension  is  certain.  He  makes 
a  halt  on  the  brow  of  a  hill,  and  addresses  his  fellow-hunters 
from  the  saddle.  In  his  wisdom  on  nigger  nature  he  will 
advise  a  return  to  the  tavern — for  it  is  now  daylight — where 
they  will  spend  another  hour  merrily,  and  then  return 
brightened  to  the  pursuit.  Acting  on  this  advice,  friends 
and  foes — both  join  as  good  fellows  in  the  chase  for  a 
nigger— followed  his  retreat  as  they  had  his  advance. 


COMPETITION  IN    HUMAN  THINGS.  309 

"No  nigger  preacher  just  about  this  circle,  Major!" 
exclaims  Romescos,  addressing  mine  host,  as  he  puts  his 
head  into  the  bar-room,  on  his  return.  "  Feller's  burrowed 
somewhere,  like  a  coon :  catch  him  on  the  broad  end  of 
morning,  or  I'll  hang  up  my  old  double-barrel,"  he  concludes, 
shaking  his  head,  and  ordering  drink  for  the  party  at  his 
expense. 

The  morning  advanced,  however,  and  nothing  was  to  be 
seen  of  Komescos :  he  vanished  as  suddenly  from  among 
them  as  Harry  had  from  the  pen.  Some  little  surprise  is 
expressed  by  the  knowing  ones  ;  they  whisper  among  them 
selves,  while  mine  host  reaches  over  the  counter,  cants  his 
head  solicitously,  and  says  : — "  What's  that,  gentlemen  ?" 

In  this  dilemma  they  cannot  inform  mine  host ;  they  must 
continue  the  useless  chase  without  Romescos'  valuable 
services.  And  here  we  must  leave  mine  host  preparing 
further  necessaries  for  capturing  the  lost  property,  that  he 
may  restore  it  to  its  owner  so  soon  as  he  shall  become  con 
valescent,  and  turn  to  Harry. 

Like  a  well-stowed  bale  of  merchandise,  to  be  delivered 
at  a  stated  place  within  a  specified  time,  he  was  rolled  in 
bagging,  and  not  permitted  to  see  the  direction  in  which  he 
was  being  driven.  When  the  pursuing  party  started  from 
the  crossing,  Romescos  took  the  lead  in  order  to  draw  it  in 
an  opposite  direction,  and  keep  the  dogs  from  the  trail. 
This  would  allow  the  stolen  clergyman  to  get  beyond  their 
reach.  When  daylight  broke  upon  the  capturers  they  were 
nearly  twenty  miles  beyond  the  reach  of  the  pursuers,  ap 
proaching  an  inn  by  the  road  side.  The  waggon  suddenly 
stopped,  and  Harry  found  himself  being  unrolled  from  his 
winding  sheet  by  the  hands  of  two  strangers.  Lifting  him 
to  his  feet,  they  took  him  from  the  waggon,  loosed  the 
chains  from  his  legs,  led  him  into  the  house,  and  placed  him 
in  a  dark  back  room.  Here,  his  head  being  uncovered,  he 
looks  upon  his  captors  with  an  air  of  confusion  and  distrust. 
"  Te  know  me  too,  I  reckon,  old  feller,  don't  ye?"  enquires 
one  of  the  men,  with  a  sardonic  grin,  as  he  lifts,  his  hat  with 
his  left  hand,  and  scratches  his  head  with  his  right. 

"  Yes,  mas'r;  there's  no  mist-akin  on  ye!"  returns  Harry, 
shaking  his  head,  as  they  release  the  chains  from  his  hands. 
He  at  length  recognises  the  familiar  faces  of  Dan  Bengal 


310  COMPETITION    IN   HUMAN  THINGS. 

and  Nath.  ISfimrod.     Both  have  figured  about  Marston's 
plantation,  in  tire  purchase  and  sale  of  negroes. 

"  Te  had  a  jolly  good  ride,  old  feller,  had'nt  ye  ?"  says 
Bengal,  exultingly,  looking  Harry  in  the  face,  shrugging  his 
shoulders,  and  putting  out  his  hand  to  make  his  friendship. 

Harry  has  no  reply  to  make  ;  but  rubs  his  face  as  if  he  is 
not  quite  satisfied  with  his  new  apartment,  and  wants  to 
know  a  little  more  of  the  motive  of  the  expedition.  "  Mas'r  ! 
I  don't  seem  to  know  myself,  nor  nothin'.  Please  tell  me 
where  I  am  going  to,  and  who  is  to  be  my  master  ?  It  will 
relieve  my  double  troubles,"  he  says,  casting  an  enquiring 
look  at  Nimrod. 

"  Shook  up  yer  parson-thinkin'  some,  I  reckon,  did'nt  it, 
old  chap  ?"  returns  Nimrod,  laughing  heartily,  but  making 
no  further  reply.  He  thinks  it  was  very  much  like  riding 
in  a  railroad  backwards. 

"  Did  my  sick  maa'r  sell  me  to  you  ?"  again  he  enquires. 

"  No  business  o'  yourn,that  ain't;  yer  nigger-knowin  ought 
to  tell  you  how  ye'd  got  into  safe  hands.  We'll  push  along 
down  south  as  soon  as  ye  gets  some  feed.  Put  on  a  straight 
face,  and  face  the  music  like  a  clever  deacon,  and  we'll  do 
the  square  in  selling  ye  to  a  Boss  what  '11  let  ye  preach 
now  and  then.  (Nimrod  becomes  very  affectionate).  Do 
the  thing  up  righteous,  and  when  yer  sold  there  '11  be  a  five- 
dollar  shiner  for  yerself.  (He  pats  him  on  the  head,  and 
puts  his  arm  over  his  shoulder.)  Best  t'  have  a  little  shot 
in  a  body's  own  pocket ;  now,  shut  up  yer  black  bread-trap, 
and  don't  go  makin  a  fuss  about  where  yer  goin'  to :  that's 
my  business !" 

Harry  pauses  as  if  in  contemplation ;  he  is  struggling 
against  his  indignation  excited  by  such  remarks.  He  knew 
his  old  master's  weaknesses,  enjoyed  his  indulgences ;  but  he 
had  never  been  made  to  feel  so  acutely  how  degraded  he 
could  be  as  a  mere  article  of  trade.  It  would  have  been 
some  consolation  to  know  which  way  he  was  proceeding,  and 
why  he  had  been  so  suddenly  snatched  from  his  new 
owner.  Fate  had  not  ordained  this  for  him ;  oh  no ! 
He  must  resign  himself  without  making  any  further  en 
quiries  ;  he  must  be  nothing  more  than  a  nigger — happy 
nigger  happily  subdued !  Seating  himself  upon  the  floor,  in 
a  recumbent  position,  he  drops  his  face  on  his  knees, — is 


COMPETITION   IN   HUMAN  THINGS.  311 

humbled  among  the  humblest.  He  is  left  alone  for  some 
time,  while  his  captors,  retiring  into  an  adjoining  room,  hold 
a  consultation. 

Breakfast  is  being  prepared,  and  much  conversation  is 
kept  up  in  an  inaudible  tone  of  voice.  Harry  has  an  in 
stinctive  knowledge  that  it  is  about  him,  for  he  hears  the 
words,  "  Peter !  Peter  !"  his  name  must  be  transmogrified 
into  "  Peter  !"  In  another  minute  he  hears  dishes  rattling 
on  the  table,  and  Bengal  distinctly  complimenting  the 
adjuncts,  as  he  orders  some  for  the  nigger  preacher.  This 
excites  his  anxiety ;  he  feels  like  placing  his  ear  at  the  key 
hole, — doing  a  little  evesdropping.  He  is  happily  disap 
pointed,  however,  for  the  door  opens,  and  a  black  boy  bearing 
a  dish  of  homony  enters,  and,  placing  it  before  him,  begs 
that  he  will  help  himself.  Harry  takes  the  plate  and  sets  it 
beside  him,  as  the  strange  boy  watches  him  with  an  air  of 
commiseration  that  enlists  his  confidence.  "  A.in't  da'h  some- 
fin  mo'  dat  I  can  bring  ye  ?"  enquires  the  ooy,  pausing  for 
an  answer. 

"  Nothing, — nothing  more  !" 

Harry  will  venture  to  make  some  enquiries  about  the 
locality.  "Do  you  belong  to  master  what  live  here?" 
He  puts  out  his  hand,  takes  the  other  by  the  arm. 

"  Hard  tellin  who  I  belongs  to.  Buckra  man  own  'em 
to-day ;  ain't  sartin  if  he  own  'em  to-morrow,  dough. 
What  country-born  nigger  is  you  ?" 

"  Down  country  !  My  poor  old  master's  gone,  and  now 
I'm  goin'  ;  but  God  only  knows  where  to.  White  man  sell 
all  old  Boss's  folks  in  a  string, — my  old  woman  and  children 
among  the  rest.  My  heart  is  with  them,  God  bless 
them  !" 

"  Eeckon  how  ya'  had  a  right  good  old  Boss  what  larn  ye 
somethin."     The   boy  listens    to    Harry    with   surprise. 
"  Don't  talk  like  dat  down  dis  a  way ;   no  country-born 
nigger  put  in  larn'd  wods  so,  nohow,"  returns  the  boy,  with 
a  look  of  curious  admiration. 

"  But  you  harn't  told  me  what  place  this  is  ?" 

"  Dis  'ouse !  e'  ant  nowhare  when  Buckra  bring  nigger 
what  he  want  to  sell,  and  don'  want  nobody  to  know  whar 
e'  bring  him  from.  Dat  man  what  bring  ye  here  be  greab 
Buckra.  De  'h  way  he  lash  nigger  whin  e'  don  do  jiat  so!" 
The  boy  shakes  his  head  with  a  warning  air. 


312  COMPETITION   IN   HUMAN  THINGS. 

"  How  did  you  get  here  ?  There  must  be  roads  leading 
in  some  directions  ?" 

"  Roads  runnin'  every  which  way,  yand'r ;  and  trou  de 
woods  anyway,  but  mighty  hard  tellin  whar  he  going  to,  he 
is.  Mas'r  Boss  don  lef  'e  nigger  know  how  'e  bring 'um,  nor 
how  he  takes  'um  way.  Guess  da  'h  gwine  to  run  ye  down 
country,  so  God  bless  you,"  says  the  boy,  shaking  him  by 
the  hand,  and  taking  leave. 

"  Well !  if  I  only  knew  which  way  I  was  going  I  should 
feel  happy  ;  because  I  could  then  write  to  my  old  master, 
somewhere  or  somehow.  And  I  know  my  good  friend 
Missus  Rosebrook  will  buy  me  for  her  plantation, — I  know 
she  will.  She  knows  my  feelings,  and  in  her  heart  wouldn't 
see  me  abused,  she  wouldn't!  I  wish  I  knew  who  my  master  is, 
where  I  am,  and  to  whom  I'm  going  to  be  sold  next.  I  think 
new  master  has  stolen  me,  thinking  old  master  was  going 
to  die,"  Harry  mutters  to  himself,  commencing  his  break 
fast,  but  still  applying  his  listening  faculties  to  the  conver 
sation  in  the  next  room.  At  length,  after  a  long  pause, 
they  seem  to  have  finished  breakfast  and  taken  up  the 
further  consideration  of  his  sale. 

"  I  don't  fear  anything  of  the  kind !  Romescos  is  just 
the  keenest  fellow  that  can  be  scared  up  this  side  of  Balti 
more.  He  never  takes  a  thing  o'  this  stamp  in  hand  but 
what  he  puts  it  through,"  says  Bengal,  in  a  whispering 
tone. 

"  True !  the  trouble's  in  his  infernal  preaching ;  that's 
the  devil  of  niggers  having  intelligence.  Can  do  anything 
in  our  way  with  common  niggers  what  don't  know  nothin' ; 
but  when  the  critters  can  do  clergy,  and  preach,  they'll 
be  sending  notes  to  somebody  they  know  as  acquaintances. 
An  intelligent  nigger's  a  bad  article  when  ye  want  to  play 
off  in  this  way,"  replies  the  other,  curtly. 

"  Never  mind,"  returns  Bengal,  "  can't  oilers  transpose 
a  nigger,  as  easy  as  turnin'  over  a  sixpence,  specially 
when  he  don't  have  his  ideas  brightened.  Can't  steer  clar 
on't.  Larnin's  mighty  dangerous  to  our  business,  jS"atb. — 
better  knock  him  on  the  head  at  once  ;  better  end  him  and 
save  a  sight  of  trouble.  It'll  put  a  stopper  on  his  preach 
ing,  this  pesks  exercisin'  his  ideas." 

A  third  interrupts.  Thinks  such  a  set  of  chicken-hearted 
fellows  won't  do  when  it  comes  to  cases  of  'mergency 


COMPETITION   IN   HUMAN  THINGS.  313 

like  this.  He  will  just  make  clergyman  Peter  Somebody 
the  deacon ;  and  with  this  honorary  title  he'll  put  him 
through  to  Major  AViley's  plantation,  when  he'll  be  all 
right  down  in  old  Mississippi.  The  Colonel  and  he,  under 
standing  the  thing,  can  settle  it  just  as  smooth  as  sunrise. 
The  curate  is  what  we  call  a  right  clever  fellow,  would  make 
the  tallest  kind  of  a  preacher,  and  pay  first-rate  per 
centage  on  himself.  Bengal  refers  to  Harry.  His  remarks 
are,  indeed,  quite  applicable.  "  I've  got  the  dockerment, 
ye  see,  all  prepared ;  and  we'll  put  him  through  without  a 
wink,"  he  concludes,  in  a  measured  tone  of  voice. 

The  door  of  Harry's  room  opens,  and  the  three  enter 
together.  "  Had  a  good  breakfast,  old  feller,  hain't  ye  ?" 
says  Nimrod,  approaching  with  hand  extended,  and  patting 
him  on  the  head  with  a  child's  playfulness.  "  I  kind  o'  likes 
the  looks  on  ye  (a  congratulatory  smile  curls  over  hia 
countenance),  old  feller  ;  and  means  to  do  the  square  thing 
in  the  way  o'  gettin'  on  ye  a  good  Boss.  Put  on  the 
I^zarus,  and  no  nigger  tricks  on  the  road.  I'm  sorry  to 
leave  ye  on  the  excursion,  but  here's  the  gentleman  what'll 
see  ye  through, — will  put  ye  through  to  old  Mississipjust  as 
safe  as  if  ye  were  a  nugget  of  gold."  Nimrod  introduces 
Harrr  to  a  short  gentleman  with  a  bald  head,  and  very 
smooth,  red  face.  His  dress  is  of  brown  homespun,  a  garb 
which  would  seem  peculiar  to  those  who  do  the  villainy  of 
the  peculiar  institution.  The  gentleman  has  a  pair  of 
handcuffs  in  his  left  hand,  with  which  he  will  make  his 
pious  merchandise  safe.  Stepping  forward,  he  places  the  fore 
finger  of  his  right  hand  on  the  preacher's  forehead,  and  reads 
him  a  lesson  which  he  must  get  firm  into  his  thinking  shell. 
It  is  this.  "  Now,  at  this  very  time,  yer  any  kind  of  a 
nigger ;  but  a'ter  this  ar'  ye  got  to  be  a  Tennessee  nigger, 
raised  in  a  pious  Tennessee  family.  And  yer  name  is  Peter 
— Peter — Peter  ! — don't  forget  the  Peter :  yer  a  parson,  and 
ought  t'  keep  the  old  apostle  what  preached  in  the  market- 
place  in  yer  noddle.  Peter,  ye  see,  is  a  pious  name,  and 
Harry  isn't ;  so  ye  must  think  Peter  and  sink  Harry." 

"  What  do  I  want  to  change  my  name  for  ?  Old  master 
give  me  that  name  long  time  ago !" 

"  None  o'  yer  business  ;  niggers  ain't  t'  know  the  philo 
sophy  of  such  things.  No  nigger  tricks,  now !"  interrupts 
Bengal,  quickly,  drawing  his  face  into  savage  contortions. 


314  COMPETITION   IN   HUMAN  THINGS. 

At  this  the  gentleman  in  whose  charge  he  will  proceed 
steps  forward  and  places  the  manacles  on  Harry's  hands  with 
the  coolness  and  indifference  of  one  executing  the  com 
monest  branch  of  his  profession.  Thus  packed  and  baled 
for  export,  he  is  hurried  from  the  house  into  a  two-horse 
waggon,  and  driven  off  at  full  speed.  Bengal  watches  the 
waggon  as  it  rolls  down  the  highway  and  is  lost  in  the 
distance.  He  laughs  heartily,  thinks  how  safe  he  has  got 
the  preacher,  and  how  much  hard  cash  he  will  bring.  God 
speed  the  slave  on  his  journey  downward,  we  might  add. 

It  frill  be  needless  for  us  to  trace  them  through  the 
many  incidents  of  their  journey  ;  our  purpose  will  be  served 
when  we  state  that  his  new  guardian  landed  him  safely 
at  the  plantation  of  Major  Wiley,  on  the  Tallahatchee 
Biver,  Mississippi,  on  the  evening  of  the  fourth  day  after 
their  departure,  having  made  a  portion  of  their  passage  on 
the  steamer  Ohio.  By  some  process  unknown  to  Harry 
he  finds  himself  duly  ingratiated  among  the  major's  field 
hands,  as  nothing  more  than  plain  Peter.  Ho  is  far  from 
the  Hgh-road,  far  from  his  friends,  without  any  prospect  *of 
communicating  with  his  old  master.  The  major,  in  his  way, 
seems  a  well-disposed  sort  of  man,  inclined  to  "  do  right" 
by  his  negroes,  and  willing  to  afford  them  an  opportunity 
of  employing  their  time  after  task,  for  their  own  benefit. 
And  yet  it  is  evident  that  he  must  in  some  way  be  con 
nected  with  G-raspum  and  his  party,  for  there  is  a 
continual  interchange  of  negroes  to  and  from  his  plantation. 
This,  however,  we  must  not  analyse  too  closely,  but  leave 
to  the  reader's  own  conjectures,  inasmuch  as  Major  "Wiley 
is  a  very  distinguished  gentleman,  and  confidently  expects 
a  very  prominent  diplomatic  appointment  under  the  next 
administration. 

Harry,  in  a  very  quiet  way,  sets  himself  about  gaining  a 
knowledge  of  his  master's  opinions  on  religion,  as  well  as 
obtaining  his  confidence  by  strict  fidelity  to  his  interests. 
So  far  does  he  succeed,  that  in  a  short  time  he  finds  him 
self  holding  the  respectable  and  confidential  office  of  rc aster 
of  stores.  Then  he  succeeds  in  inducing  his  master  to  hear 
him  preach  a  sermon  to  his  negroes.  The  major  is  per 
fectly  willing  to  allow  him  the  full  exercise  of  his  talents,  and 
is  moved  to  admiration  at  his  fervency,  his  aptitude,  his 
knowledge  of  the  Bible,  and  the  worth  there  must  be  in  such 


COMPETITION   IN   HUMAN  THINGS.  315 

a  piece  of  clergy  property.  Master  Wiley  makes  his  man  the 
offer  of  purchasing  his  time,  which  Harry,  under  the  alias  of 
Peter,  accepts,  and  commences  his  mission  of  preaching  on 
the  neighbouring  plantations. 

Ardently  and  devoutedly  does  he  pursue  his  mission  of 
Christianity  among  his  fellow-bondmen  ;  but  he  has  reaped 
little  of  the  harvest  to  himself,  his  master  having  so  in 
creased  the  demand  for  his  time  that  he  can  scarcely  save 
money  enough  to  purchase  clothes.  At  first  he  was  only 
required  to  pay  six  dollars  a  week  ;  now,  nothing  less  than 
ten  is  received.  It  is  a  happy  premium  on  profitable  human 
nature  ;  aud  through  it  swings  the  strongest  hinge  of  that 
cursed  institution  which  blasts  alike  master  and  slave. 
Major  Wiley  is  very  chivalrous,  very  hospitable,  and  very 
eminent  for  his  many  distinguished  qualifications ;  but 
his  very  pious  piece  of  property  must  pay  forty-seven  per 
cent,  annual  tribute  for  the  very  hospitable  privilege  of 
administering  the  Word  of  Grod  to  his  brother  bondmen. 
Speak  not  of  robed  bishops  robbing  Christianity  in  a  foreign 
laud,  ye  men  who  deal  in  men,  and  would  rob  nature  of  its 
tombstone !  Te  would  rob  the  angels  did  their  garments  give 
forth  gold. 

The  poor  fellow's  income,  depending,  in  some  measure, 
upon  small  presents  bestowed  by  the  negroes  to  whom  he 
preached,  was  scarcely  enough  to  bring  him  out  at  the  end 
of  the  week,  and  to  be  thus  deprived  of  it  seemed  more  than 
his  spirits  could  bear.  Again  and  again  had  he  appealed  to 
his  master  for  justice  ;  but  there  was  no  justice  for  him, — his 
appeals  proved  as  fruitless  as  the  wind,  on  his  master's 
callous  sensibilities.  Instead  of  exciting  compassion,  he 
omy  drew  upon  him  his  master's  prejudices ;  he  was 
threatened  with  being  sold,  if  he  resisted  for  a  day  the  pay 
ment  of  wages  for  his  own  body.  Hence  he  saw  but  one 
alternative  left — one  hope,  one  smile  from  a  good  woman, 
who  might,  and  he  felt  would,  deliver  him ;  that  was  in 
writing  to  his  good  friend,  Mrs.  Kosebrook,  whose  generous 
heart  he  might  touch  through  his  appeals  for  mercy.  And 
yet  there  was  another  obstacle ;  the  post-office  might  be  ten 
miles  off,  and  his  master  having  compelled  him  to  take  the 
name  of  Peter  Wiley,  how  was  he  to  get  a  letter  to  her 
without  the  knowledge  of  his  master  ?  Should  his  letter  be 
intercepted,  his  master,  a  strict  disciplinarian,  would  not 
21 


316  COMPETITION  IN   HUMAN  THINGS.  , 

only  sell  him  farther  south,  but  inflict  the  severest  punish 
ment.  Nevertheless,  there  was  one  consolation  left ;  his 
exertions  on  behalf  of  the  slaves,  and  his  earnestness  in 
promoting  the  interests  of  their  masters,  had  not  passed 
unnoticed  with  the  daughter  of  a  neighbouring  planter 
(this  lady  has  since  distinguished  herself  for  sympathy  with 
the  slave),  who  became  much  interested  in  his  welfare. 
She  had  listened  to  his  exhortations  with  admiration  ;  she  had 
listened  to  his  advice  on  religion,  and  become  his  friend  and 
confidant.  She  would  invite  him  to  her  father's  house,  sit  for 
hours  at  his  side,  and  listen  with  breathless  attention  to  his 
pathos,  his  display  of  natural  genius.  To  her  he  unfolded 
his  deep  and  painful  troubles ;  to  her  he  looked  for  consola 
tion  ;  she  was  the  angel  of  light  guiding  him  on  his  weary 
way,  cheering  his  drooping  soul  on  its  journey  to  heaven. 
To  her  he  disclosed  hew  he  had  been  called  to  the  bedside  of 
his  dying  master ;  how,  previously,  he  had  been  sold  from 
his  good  old  master,  Marston,  his  wife,  his  children ;  how 
he  was  mysteriously  carried  off  and  left  in  the  charge  of  his 
present  master,  who  exacts  all  he  can  earn. 

The  simple  recital  of  his  story  excites  the  genial  feelings 
of  the  young  lady ;  she  knows  some  foul  transaction  is 
associated  with  his  transition,  and  at  once  tenders  her  services 
to  release  him.  But  she  must  move  cautiously,  for  even 
Harry's  preaching  is  in  direct  violation  of  the  statutes ; 
and  were  she  found  aiding  in  that  which  would  unfavourably 
affect  the  interests  of  his  master  she  would  be  subjected  to 
serious  consequences — perhaps  be  invited  to  spend  a  short 
season  at  the  sheriff's  hotel,  commonly  called  the  county 
gaol.  However,  there  was  virtue  in  the  object  to  be  served, 
and  feeling  that  whatever  else  she  could  do  to  relieve  him 
would  be  conferring  a  lasting  benefit  on  a  suffering  mortal, 
she  will  brave  the  attempt. 

"  Tell  me  he  is  not  a  man,  but  a  slave !  tell  me  a  being 
with  such  faculties  should  be  thus  sunken  beneath  the 
amenities  of  freeedom  !  that  man  may  barter  almighty  gifts 
for  gold !  trample  his  religion  into  dust,  and  turn  it  into 
dollars  and  cents !  What  a  mockery  is  this  against  the 
justice  of  heaven !  "When  this  is  done  in  this  our  happy 
land  of  happy  freedom,  scoffers  may  make  it  their  foot-ball, 
and  kings  in  their  tyranny  may  point  the  finger  of  scorn  at 
us,  and  ask  us  for  our  honest  men,  our  cherished  freedom ! 


COMPETITION  IN  HUMAN  THINGS.  317 

"  "Woman  can  do  something,  if  she  will ;  let  me  see  what  I 
can  do  to  relieve  this  poor  oppressed,"  she  exclaims  one  day, 
after  he  has  consulted  her  on  the  best  means  of  relief.  "  I 
will  try." 

Woman  knows  the  beatings  of  the  heart ;  she  can  re 
spond  more  quickly  to  its  pains  and  sorrows.  Our  youthful 
missionary  will  sit  down  and  write  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Rose- 
brook — she  will  do  something, — the  atmosphere  of  slavery 
will  hear  of  her  yet — it  will ! 


CHAPTER  XXVH. 

• 

THE  PRETTY  CHILDREN  ARE  TO  BE  SOLD. 

How  varied  are  the  sources  of  human  nature — how  chang 
ing  its  tints  and  glows — how  immeasurable  its  uncertainties, 
and  how  obdurate  the  will  that  can  turn  its  teuderest  threads 
into  profitable  degradation !  But  what  democrat  can 
know  himself  a  Ireeman  when  the  whitest  blood  makes 
good  merchandise  in  the  market  ?  When  the  only  lineal 
siain  on  a  mother's  name  for  ever  binds  the  chains, 
let  no  man  boast  of  liberty.  The  very  voice  re-echoes,  oh, 
man,  why  be  a  hypocrite !  cans't  thou  not  see  the  scorner 
looking  from  above  ?  But  the  oligarchy  asks  in  tones  so 
modest,  so  full  of  chivalrous  fascination,  what  hast  thou 
to  do  with  that  ?  be  no  longer  a  fanatic.  So  we  will  bear 
the  warning — pass  from  it  for  the  present. 

More  than  two  years  have  passed ;  writs  of  error  have 
been  filed  and  argued ;  the  children  have  dragged  out  time 
in  a  prison-house.  Is  it  in  freedom's  land  a  prison  was 
made  for  the  innocent  to  waste  in  ?  So  it  is,  and  may 
Heaven  one  day  change  the  tenour !  Excuse,  reader,  this 
digression,  and  let  us  proceed  with  our  narrative. 

The  morning  is  clear  and  bright ;  Mrs.  Jiosebrook  sits  at 
^ie  window  of  her  cheerful  villa,  watching  the  approach  of 
the  post<-rider  seen  in  the  distance,  near  a  cluster  of  oaks 
that  surround  the  entrance  of  the  arbour,  at  the  north  side 
of  the  garden.  The  scene  spread  out  before  her  is  full  of 
rural  beauty,  softened  by  the  dew-decked  foliage,  clothing 
the  landscape  with  its  clumps.  As  if  some  fairy  hand  had 
spread  a  crystal  mist  about  the  calm  of  morning,  and  angels 
were  bedecking  it  with  the  richest  tints  of  a  rising  sun  at 
morn,  the  picture  sparkles  with  silvery  life.  There  she  sits, 
her  soft  glowing  eyes  scanning  the  reposing  scene,  as  her 
graceful  form  seems  infusing  spirit  into  its  silent  loveliness. 
And  then  she  speaks,  as  if  whispering  a  secret  to  the  waft 
ing  air:  "our  happy  union  /"  It  falls  upon  the  ear  like 
some  angel  voice  speaking  of  things  too  pure,  too  holy  for 


THE  PBETHY  CHILDREN  ABE  TO  BE  SOLD.      319 

the  caprices  of  earth.  She  would  be  a  type  of  that  calmness 
pervading  the  scene — that  sweetness  and  repose  which 
seem  mingling  to  work  out  some  holy  purpose ;  and  yet 
there  is  a  touching  sadness  depicted  in  her  face. 

"  Two  years  have  passed;  how  changed!"  she  exclaims, 
as  if  rousing  from  a  reverie  :  "  I  would  not  be  surprised  if 
he  brought  bad  tidings." 

The  postman  has  reached  the  gate  and  delivered  a  letter, 
•which  the  servant  quickly  bears  to  her  hand.  She  grasps  it 
anxiously,  as  if  recognising  the  superscription ;  opens  it 
nervously  ;  reads  the  contents.  It  is  from  ITranconia,  inter 
ceding  with  her  in  behalf  of  her  uncle  and  the  two  children, 
in  the  following  manner : — 
"  My  dearest  Friend, 

"  Can  I  appeal  to  one  whose  feelings  are  more  ready  to 
be  enlisted  iu  a  good  cause  ?  I  think  not.  I  wish  now  to 
enlist  your  feelings  in  something  that  concerns  myself.  It 
is  to  save  two  interesting  children— who,  though  our  eyes 
may  at  times  be  blinded  to  facts,  I  cannot  forget  are  nearly 
allied  to  me  by  birth  and  association— from  the  grasp  of 
slavery.  Misfortune  never  comes  alone ;  nor,  in  this  in 
stance,  need  I  recount  ours  to  you.  Of  my  own  I  will  say 
but  little  ;  the  least  is  best.  Into  wedlock  I  have  been  sold 
to  one  it  were  impossible  for  me  to  love ;  he  cannot  cherish 
the  respect  due  to  my  feelings.  His  associations  are  of  the 
coarsest,  and  his  heartless  treatment  beyond  my  endurance. 
He  subjects  me  to  the  meanest  grievances ;  makes  my  posi 
tion  more  degraded  than  that  of  the  slave  upon  whom  he 
gratifies  his  lusts.  Had  my  parents  saved  me  from  such  a 
monster-  I  cannot  call  him  less — they  would  have  saved  me 
many  a  painful  reflection.  As  for  his  riches — I  know  not 
whether  they  really  exist  —  they  are  destined  only  to  serve 
his  lowest  passions.  With  him  misfortune  is  a  crime  ;  and 
I  am  made*to  suffer  under  his  taunts,  about  the  disappear 
ance  of  my  brother,  the  poverty  of  my  parents. 

"  Tou  are  well  aware  of  the  verdict  of  the  jury,  and  the 
affirmation  of  the  Court  of  Appeal,  upon  those  dear  chil 
dren.  The  decree  orders  them  to  be  sold  in  the  market,  for 
the  benefit  of  my  uncle's  creditors  :  this  is  the  day,  the  fatal 
day,  the  sale  takes  place.  Let  me  beseech  of  you,  as  you 
have  it  in  your  power,  to  induce  the  deacon  to  purchase 
them.  0,  save  them  from  the  fate  that  awaits  them !  You 


320      THE  PEETTT  CHILDBEK  ABE  TO  BE  SOLD 

know  my  uncle's  errors ;  you  know  also  his  goodness  of 
heart;  you  can  sympathise  with  him  in  his  sudden  downfall. 
Then  the  affection  he  has  for  Annette  is  unbounded.  No 
father  could  be  more  dotingly  fond  of  his  legitimate  child. 
But  you  know  what  our  laws  are — what  they  force  us  to  do 
against  our  better  inclinations.  Annette's  mother,  poor 
wretch,  has  fled,  and  M'Carstrow  charges  me  with  being 
accessory  to  her  escape  :  I  cannot,  nor  will  I,  deny  it,  while 
my  most  ardent  prayer  invokes  her  future  happiness.  That' 
she  has  saved  herself  from  a  life  of  shame  I  cannot  doubt ; 
and  if  I  have  failed  to  carry  out  a  promise  I  made  her  before 
her  departure — that  of  rescuing  her  child — the  satisfaction 
of  knowing  that  she  at  least  is  enjoying  the  reward  of  free 
dom  partially  repays  my  feelings.  Let  me  entreat  you  to 
f  repair  to  the  city,  and,  at  least,  rescue  Annette  from  that 
life  of  shame  and  disgrace  now  pending  over  her — a  shame 
and  disgrace  no  less  black  in  the  sight  of  heaven  because 
society  tolerates  it  as  among  the  common  things  of  social 
life.  ' 

"  I  am  now  almost  heart-broken,  and  fear  it  will  soon  be 
my  lot  to  be  driven  from  under  the  roof  of  Colonel  M'Cars 
trow,  which  is  no  longer  a  home,  but  a  mere  place  of  durance 
to  me.  It  would  be  needless  for  me  here  to  recount  his 
conduct.  Were  I  differently  constituted  I  might  tolerate 
his  abuse,  and  accept  a  ruffian's  recompense  in  consideration 
of  his  wealth. 

"  Go,  my  dear  friend,  save  that  child, 

"  Is  the  prayer  of  your  affectionate 

"  PBANCONIA." 

Mrs.  Hosebrook  reads  and  re-reads  the  letter ;  then  heaves 
a  sigh  as  she  lays  it  upon  the  table  at  her  side.  As  if  dis 
cussing  the  matter  in  her  mind,  her  face  resumes  a  contem 
plative  seriousness.  . 

"  And  those  children  are  to  be  sold  in  the  market !  "Who 
won't  they  sell,  and  sanctify  the  act  ?  How  can  I  relieve 
them  ?  how  can  I  be  their  friend,  for  Franconia's  sake  ?  My 
husband  is  away  on  the  plantation,  and  I  cannot  brave  the 
coarse  slang  of  a  slave  mart ;  I  cannot  mingle  with  those 
who  there  congregate. 

"And,  too,  there  are  so  many  such  cases— bearing  on 
their  front  the  fallacy  of  this  our  democracy — that  however 


THE  PBETTY  CHILDBEN  ABE  TO  BE  SOLD.      321 

^ 

much  one  may  have  claim*  over  another,  it  were  impossible 
to  take  one  into  consideration  without  inciting  a  hundred  to 
press  their  demands.  In  this  sense,  then,  the  whole  ac 
cursed  system  would  have"  to  be  uprooted  before  the  remedy 
could  be  applied  effectually.  Notwithstanding,  I  will  go  ; 
I  will  go :  I'll  see  what  can  be  done  in  the  city,"  says  Mrs. 
Rosebrook,  bristling  with  animation.  "  Our  ladies  must 
have  something  to  arouse  their  energies ;  they  all  have  a 
deep  interest  to  serve,  and  can  do  much:"  she  will 
summon  resolution  and  brave  all.  Hi  sing  from  her  seat, 
she  paces  the  room  several  times,  and  then  orders  a 
servant  to  command  Uncle  Bradshaw  to  get  the  carriage 
ready,  and  be  prepared  for  a  drive  into  the  city. 

Soon  Bradshaw  has  got  the  carriage  ready,  and  our  good 
lady  is  on  the  road,  rolling  away  toward  the  city.  As  they 
approach  a  curvature  that  winds  round  a  wooded  hill,  Brad 
shaw  intimates  to  "  missus"  that  he  sees  signs  of  a  camp  a 
short  distance  ahead.  He  sees  smoke  curling  upwards 
among  the  trees,  and  very  soon  the  notes  of  a  long-metre 
tune  fall  softly  on  the  ear,  like  the  tinkling  of  distant  bella 
in  the  desert.  Louder  and  louder,  as  they  approach,  the 
sounds  become  more  and  more  distinct.  Then  our  good 
lady  recognises  the  familiar  voice  of  Elder  Pemberton. 
Praiseworthy.  This  worthy  Christian  of  the  Southern 
Church  is  straining  his  musical  organ  to  its  utmost  capa 
city,  in  the  hope  there  will  be  no  doubt  left  on  the  minds 
of  those  congregated  around  him  as  to  his  very  sound  piety. 
The  carriage  rounds  the  curvature,  and  there,  encamped  in 
a  grove  of  pines  by  the  road  side,  is  our  pious  Elder,  ad 
ministering  consolation  to  his  infirm  property.  Such  people ! 
they  present  one  of  the  most  grotesque  and  indiscriminate 
spectacles  ever  eyes  beheld.  The  cholera  has  subsided ;  the 
Elder's  greatest  harvest  time  is  gone  ;  few  victims  are  to  be 
found  for  the  Elder's  present  purposes.  Now  he  is  constrained 
to  resort  to  the  refuse  of  human  property  (those  afflicted 
with  what  are  called  ordinary  diseases),  to  keep  alive  the 
Christian  motive  of  his  unctuous  business.  To  speak 
plainly,  he  must  content  himself  with  the  purchase  of  such 
infirmity  as  can  be  picked  up  here  and  there  about  the 
country. 

A  fire  of  pine  knots  blazes  in  the  centre  of  a  mound,  and 
it  hangs  an  iron  kettle,  'on  a  straddle,   filled  with  corn- 


322  THE  PRETTY  CHILD11EN  ABE  ,TO  BE  SOLD. 

grits.  Around  this,  and  anxiously  watching  its  boiling,  are 
the  lean  figures  of  negroes,  with  haggard  and  sickly  faces, 
telling  but  too  forcibly  the  tale  of  their  troubles.  They 
watch  and  watch,  mutter  in  grumbling  accents,  stir  the 
homony,  and  sit  down  again.  Two  large  .  mule  carts  stand 
in  the  shade  of  a  pine  tree,  a  few  yards  from  the  fire.  A 
few  paces  further  on  are  the  mules  tethered,  quietly  grazing ; 
while,  seated  on  a  whiskey-keg,  is  the  Elder,  book  in 
hand,  giving  out  the  hymn  to  some  ten  or  a  dozen  infirm 
negroes  seated  round  him  on  the  ground.  They  have  en 
joyed  much  consolation  by  listening  with  wondrous  astonish 
ment  to  the  Elder's  exhortations,  and  are  now  ready  to  join 
their  musical  jargon  to  the  words  of  a  Watts's  hymn. 

On  arriving  opposite  the  spot,  our  good  lady  requests 
Bradshaw  to  stop ;  which  done,  the  Elder  recognises  her, 
and  suddenly  adjourning  his  spiritual  exercises,  advances  to 
meet  her,  his  emotions  expanding  with  enthusiastic  joy.  In 
his  eagerness,  with  outstretched  hand,  he  comes  sailing 
along,  trips  his  toe  in  a  vine,  and  plunges  head  foremost 
into  a  broad  ditch  that  separates  the  road  from  the  rising 
ground. 

The  accident  is  very  unfortunate  at  this  moment ;  the 
Elder's  enthusiasm  is  somewhat  cooled,  nevertheless;  but, 
as  there  is  seldom  a  large  loss  without  a  small  gain,  he  finds 
himself  strangely  bespattered  from  head  to  foot  with  the 
ingredients  of  a  quagmire. 

"  U'h !  u'h !  u'h !  my  dear  madam,  pardon  me,  I  pray ; — 
strange  moment  to  meet  with  a  misfortune  of  this  kind. 
But  I  was  so  glad  to  see  you!"  he  ejaculates,  sensitively, 
making  the  best  of  his  way  out,  brushing  his  sleeves,  and 
wiping  his  face  with  his  never-failing  India  handkerchief. 
He  approaches  the  carriage,  apologising  for  his  appearance. 

He  hopes  our  lady  will  excuse  him,  having  so  far  lost  him 
self  in  his  enthusiasm,  which,  together  with  the  fervency  and 
devotion  of  the  spiritual  exercises  he  was  enjoying  with  his 
poor,  helpless  property,  made  him  quite  careless  of  himself. 
Begging  a  thousand  pardons  for  presenting  himself  in  such 
a  predicament  (his  gallantry  is  proverbially  southern),  he 
forgets  that  his  hat  and  spectacles  have  been  dislodged  by 
his  precipitation  into  the  ditch. 

The  good  lady  reaches  out  her  hand,  as  a  smile  curls  over 
her  face ;  but  Bradshaw  must  grin ;  and  grin  he  does,  in 
right  good  earnest. 


THE  PRETTY  CHILDREN  ARE  TO  BE  SOLD.  323 

"  Bless  me,  my  dear  Elder !  what  trade  are  you  now 
engaged  in  ?"  she  enquires. 

"  A  little  devotional  exercises,  my  dea»  madam !  We 
were  enjoying  them  with  so  much  Christian  feeling  that  I  was 
quite  carried  away, indeed  I  was!"  He  rubs  his  fingers  through 
his  bristly  hair,  and  then  downwards  to  his  nasal  organ, 
feeling  for  his  devoted  glasses.  He  is  surprised  at  their  ab 
sence — makes  another  apology.  He  affirms,  adding  his  sacred 
honour,  as  all  real  southerners  do,  that  he  had  begun  to  feel 
justified  in  the  belief  that  there  never  was  a  religion  like 
that  preached  by  the  good  apostles,  when  such  rural  spots 
as  this  (he  points  to  his  encampment)  were  chosen  for  its 
administration.  Everything  round  him  made  him  feel  so 
good,  so  much  like  the  purest  Christian  of  the  olden  time. 
He  tells  her,  with  great  seriousness,  that  we  must  serve 
God,  and  not  forget  poor  human  nature,  never !  "  To  the 
world  he  would  seem  labouring  under  the  influence  of 
those  inert  convictions  by  which  we  strive  to  conceal  our 
natural  inclinations,  while  drawing  the  flimsy  curtain  of 
"  to  do  good"  over  the  real  object. 

He  winks  and  blinks,  rubs  his  eyes,  works  his  face  into 
all  the  angles  and  contortions  it  is  capable  of,  and  commences 
searching  for  his  hat  and  spectacles.  Both  are  necessary 
adjuncts  to  his  pious  appearance ;  without  them  there  is 
that  in  the  expression  of  his  countenance  from  which  none 
can  fail  to  draw  an  unfavourable  opinion  of  his  real 
character.  The  haggard,  care-worn  face,  browned  to  the 
darkest  tropical  tints ;  the  ceaseless  leer  of  that  small, 
piercing  eye,  anxiety  and  agitation  pervading  the  tout 
ensemble  of  the  man,  will  not  be  dissembled.  Kay ;  those 
acute  promontories  of  the  face,  narrow  and  sharp,  and  that 
low,  reclining  forehead,  and  head  covered  with  bristly  iron- 
grey  hair,  standing  erect  in  rugged  tufts,  are  too  strong  an 
index  of  character  for  all  the  disguises  Elder  Pemberton 
Praiseworthy  can  invent. 

"  One  minute,  my  dear  madam,"  he  exclaims,  in  his 
eagerness  for  the  lost  ornaments  of  his  face. 

"Never  mind  them,  Elder;  never  mind  them  !  In  my 
eyes  you  are  just  as  wrell  without  them,"  she  rejoins,  an 
ironical  smile  invading  her  countenance,  and  a  curl  of 
contempt  on  her  lip.  "  But, — tell  me  what  are  you  doing 
here  ?" 


324  THE  PRETTY  CHILDREN  ARE  TO  BE  SOLD. 

'  Here !  ray  dear  madam  ?  Doing  good  for  mankind 
and  the  truth  of  religion;  I  claim  merit  of  the  parish,  for 
my  pursuit  is  laudable,  and  saves  the  parish  much  trouble," 
says  the  Elder,  beginning  to  wax  warm  in  the  goodness  of 
his  pursuit,  before  anyone  has  undertaken  to  dispute  him, 
or  question  the  purity  of  his  purpose. 

"Still  speculating  in  infirmity;  making  a  resurrection 
man  of  yourself !  You  are  death's  strongest  opponent ;  you 
fight  the  great  slayer  for  small  dollars  and  cents." 

"  Weil,  now,"  interrupts  the  Elder,  with  a  serious  smile, 
"  I'd  rather  face  a  Mexican  army  than  a  woman's  insinuating 
questions, — in  matters  of  this  kind  !  But  it's  business,  ye 
see  !  according  to  law ;  and  ye  can't  -get  over  that.  There's 
no  getting  over  the  law  ;  and  he  that  serveth  the  Lord,  no 
matter  how,  deserveth  recompense ;  my  recompense  is  in 
the  amount  of  life  I  saves  for  the  nigger." 

"  That  is  not  what  I  asked ;  you  evade  my  questions. 
Elder!  better  acknowledge  honestly,  for  the  sake  of  the 
country,  where  did  you  pick  up  these  poor  wretches  ?" 

"  I  goes  round  the  district,  madam,  and  picks  up  a  cripple 
here,  and  a  cancer  case  there,  and  a  dropsy  doubtful  yonder ; 
and  then,  some  on  em's  got  diseases  what  don't  get  out 
until  one  comes  to  apply  medical  skill.  Shan't  make  much 

on  these  sort  o'  cases, " 

The  lady  interrupts  him,  by  bidding  him  good  morning, 
and  advising  him,  whenever  he  affects  to  serve  the  Lord, 
to  serve  him  honestly,  without  a  selfish  motive.  She 
leaves  the  Elder  to  his  own  reflections,  to  carry  his  victim, 
property  to  his  charnel-houso,  where,  if  he  save  life  for  the 
enjoyment  of  liberty,  he  may  serve  the  Lord  to  a  good 
purpose.  She  leaves  him  to  the  care  of  the  Christian  church 
of  the  South, — the  church  of  Christian  slaVery,  the  rules  of 
which  he  so  strictly  follows. 

As  our  good  lady  moves  quickly  away  toward  the  city, 
the  Elder  looks  up,  imploringly,  as  if  invoking  the  praise  of 
heaven  on  his  good  deeds.  He  is,  indeed,  astonished,  that 
his  dear  friend,  the  lady,  should  have  made  such  a  declaration 
so  closely  applied,  so  insinuating.  That  such  should  have 
escaped  her  lips  when  she  must  know  that  his  very  soul 
aud  intention  are  pur.ty!  "  I  never  felt  like  making  a  wish 
before  now;  and  now  I  wishes  I  was,  or  that  my  father 
had  made  me,  a  lawyer.  I  would  defend  my  position  in  n 


THE  PRETTY  CHILDREN  ARE  TO  BE  SOLD.  325 

legal  sense  then !  I  don't  like  lawyers  generally,  I  confess ; 
the  profession's  not  as  honourable  as  ours,  and  its  members 
are  a  set  of  sharpers,  who  would  upset  gospel  and  every 
thing  else  for  a  small  fee,  they  would  !"  He  concludes,  as 
his  eyes  regrettingly  wander  after  the  carriage.  The  words 
have  moved  him ;  there  is  something  he  wishes  to  say,  but 
can't  just  get  the  point  he  would  arrive  at.  He  turns  away, 
sad  at  heart,  to  his  sadder  scenes.  "I  know  that  my 
Redeemer  liveth,"  he  sings. 

In  the  city  a  different  piece  is  in  progress  of  performance. 
Papers,  and  all  necessary  preparations  for  procuring  the 
smooth  transfer  of  the  youthful  property,  are  completed ; 
customers  have  begun  to  gather  round  the  mart.  Some  are 
searching  among  the  negroes  sent  to  the  warehouse ;  others 
are  inquiring  where  this  property,  advertised  in  the  morn 
ing  journals,  and  so  strongly  commented  upon,  may  be 
found.  They  have  been  incited  to  examine,  in  consequence 
of  the  many  attractions  set  forth  in  the  conditions  of  sale. 

There  the  two  children  sit,  on  a  little  seat  near  the 
vender's  tribune.  Old  Aunt  Dina,  at  the  prison,  has  dressed 
Annette  so  neatly !  Her  white  pinafore  shines  so  brightly, 
is  so  neatly  arranged,  and  her  silky  auburn  locks  curl  so 
prettily,  in  tiny  ringlets,  over  her  shoulders ;  and  then  her 
round  fair  face  looks  so  sweetly,  glows  with  such  innocent 
curiosity,  as  her  soft  blue  eyes,  deep  with  sparkling  vivacity, 
wander  over  the  strange  scene.  She  instinctively  feels  that 
she  is  the  special  object  of  some  important  event.  Laying 
her  little  hand  gently  upon  the  arm  of  an  old  slave  that  sits 
by  her  side,  she  casts  shy  glances  at  those  admirers  who 
stand  round  her  and  view  her  as  a  marketable  article  only. 

"  Auntie,  where  are  they  going  to  take  me  ?"  the  child 
inquires,  with  a  solicitous  look,  as  she  straightens  the  folds 
of  her  dress  with  her  little  hands. 

"  Grwinc  t'  sell  'um,"  mumbles  the  old  slave.  "  Lor', 
child,  a'h  wishes  ye  wa'h  mine ;  reckon  da'h  wouldn't  sell 
ye.  T'ant  much  to  sell  nigger  like  I,  nohow  ;  but  e'  hurt 
my  feelins  just  so  'twarnt  right  t'  sell  de  likes  o'  ye."  The 
old  slave,  in  return,  lays  her  hand  upon  Annette's  head,  and 
smooths  her  hair,  as  if  solicitous  of  her  fate.  "  Sell  ye, 
child — sell  ye  ?"  she  concludes,  shaking  her  head. 

"  And  what  will  they  do  with  me  and  Nicholas  when  they 


326  THE  PEETTY  CHILDBEN  AEE  TO  BE  SOLD. 

get  us  sold  ?"  continues  the  child,  turning  to  Nicholas  and 
taking  him  by  the  arm. 

"  Don'  kno' :  perhaps  save  ye  fo'h  sinnin'  agin  de  Lor',"  is 
the  old  slave's  quick  reply.  She  shakes  her  head  doubt- 
ingly,  and  bursts  into  tears,  as  she  takes  Annette  in  her 
arms,  presses  her  to  her  bosom,  kisses  and  kisses  her  pure 
cheek.  How  heavenly  is  the  affection  of  that  old  slave — 
how  it  rebukes  our  Christian  mockery  ! 

"  Will  they  sell  us  where  we  can't  see  mother,  auntie  ?  I 
do  want  to  see  mother  so,"  says  the  child,  looking  up  in  the 
old  slave's  face.  There  seemed  something  too  pure,  too 
holy,  in  the  child's  simplicity,  as  it  prattled  about  its  mo 
ther,  for  such  purposes  as  it  is  about  to  be.  consigned  to. 
"  They  do  not  sell  white  folks,  auntie,  do  they  ?  My  face  is 
as  white  as  anybody's  ;  and  Nicholas's  aint  black.  I  do 
•want  to  see  mother  so  !  when  will  she  come  back  and  take 
care  of  me,  auntie  ?" 

"  Lor',  child,"  interrupts  the  old  negro,  suppressing  her 
emotions,  "  no  use  to  ax  dem  questions  ven  ye  gwine  t* 
market.  Buckra  right  smart  at  makin'  nigger  what  bring 
cash." 

The  child  expresses  a  wish  that  auntie  would  take  her 
back  to  the  old  plantation,  where  master,  as  mother  used  to 
call  him,  wouldn't  let  them  sell  her  away  off.  And  she 
shakes  her  head  with  an  air  of  unconscious  pertness  :  tells 
the  old  negro  not  to  cry  for  her. 

The  cryer's  bell  sounds  forth  its  muddling  peals  to  sum 
mon  the  customers  ;  a  grotesque  mixture  of  men  close  round 
the  stand.  The  old  slave,  as  if  from  instinct,  again  takes 
Annette  in  her  arms,  presses  and  presses  her  to  her  bosom, 
looks  compassionately  in  her  face,  and  smiles  while  a  tear 
glistens  in  her  eyes.  She  is  inspired  by  the  beauty  of  the 
child  5  her  heart  bounds  with  affection  for  her  tender  years  ; 
she  loves  her  because  she  is  lovely  ;  and  she  smiles  upon  her 
as  a  beautiful  image  of  God's  creation.  But  the  old 
slave  grieves  over  her  fate ;  her  grief  flows  from  the 
purity  of  the  heart ;  she  knows  not  the  rules  of  the  slave 
church. 

Annette  is  born  a  child  of  sorrow  in  this  our  land  of  love 
and  liberty ;  she  is  a  democrat's  daughter,  cursed  by  the 
inconsistencies  of  that  ever-praised  democratic  goodness. 


THE  PRETTY  CHILDREN  ARE  TO  BE  SOLD.  327 

A  child !  nothing  more  than  an  item  of  common  trade.  It 
is  eveu  so  ;  but  let  not  happy  democracy  blush,  for  the  child, 
being  merchandise,  has  no  claims  to  that  law  of  the  soul 
which  looks  above  the  frigidity  of  slave  statutes.  What 
generosity  is  there  in  this  generous  laud  ?  what  impulses  of 
nature  not  quenched  by  force  of  public  opinion,  when  the 
associations  of  a  child  like  this  (we  are  picturing  a  true 
story),  her  birth  and  blood,  her  clear  complexion,  the  bright 
carnatic  of  her  cheek,  will  not  save  her  from  the  mercenary 
grasp  of  dollars  and  cents  ?  It  was  the  law  ;  the  law  had 
made  men  demons,  craving  the  bodies  and  souls  of  their 
fellow  men.  It  was  the  white  man's  charge  to  protect  the 
law  and  the  constitution  ;  and  any  manifestation  of  sympa 
thy  for  this  child  would  be  in  violation  of  a  system  which 
cannot  be  ameliorated  without  endangering  the  whole  struc 
ture  :  hence  the  comments  escaping  from  purchasers  are 
only  such  as  might  have  been  expressed  by  the  sporting 
man  in  his  admiration  of  a  finely  proportioned  animal. 

"  What  a  sweet  child!"  says  one,  as  they  close  round. 

"  Make  a  woman  when  she  grows  up !"  rejoins  another, 
twirling  his  cane,  and  giving  his  hat  an  extra  set  on  the 
side  of  his  head. 

"  Take  too  long  to  keep  it  afore  its  valuable  is  developed ; 
but  it's  a  picture  of  beauty.  Face  would  do  to  take  draw 
ings  from,  it's  so  full  of  delicate  outlines,"  interposes  a 
third.  , 

An  old  gentleman,  with  something  of  the  ministerial  in 
his  countenance,  and  who  has  been  very  earnestly  watching 
them  for  some  time,  thinks  a  great  deal  about  the  subject  of 
slavery,  and  the  strange  laws  by  which  it  is  governed  just  at 
this  moment.  He  says,  "  One  is  inspired  with  a  sort  of 
admiration  that  unlocks  the  heart,  while  gazing  at  such 
delicacy  and  child-like  sweetness  as  is  expressed  in  the  face 
of  that  child."  He  points  his  cane  coldly  at  Annette.  "  It 
causes  a  sort  of  reaction  in  one's  sense  of  right,  socially  and 
politically,  when  we  see  it  mixed  up  with  niggers  and  black 
ruffians  to  be  sold." 

"  Must  abide  the  laws,  though,"  says  a  gentleman  in  black, 
on  his  left. 

"  Yes,"  returns  our  friend,  quickly,  "  if  such  property 
could  be  saved  the  hands  of  speculators" — 


328  THE  PRETTY  CHILDREN  ARE  TO  BE  SOLD. 

"  Speculators !  speculators !"  rejoins  the  gentleman  in 
black,  knitting  his  brows. 

"  Tes  :  it's  always  the  case  in  our  society.  The  beauty 
of  such  property  makes  it  dangeroiis  about  a  well-ordained 
man's  house.  Our  ladies,  generally,  have  no  sympathy  with, 
and  rather  dislike  its  ill-gotten  tendencies.  The  piety  of  the 
south  amounts  to  but  little  in  its  influence  on  the  slave  po 
pulation.  The  slave  population  generates  its  own  piety. 
There  is  black  piety  and  white  piety ;  but  the  white  piety 
effects  little  when  it  can  dispose  of  poor  black  piety  just  as 
it  pleases  ;  and  there's  no  use  in  clipping  the  branches  off  the 
tree  while  the  root  is  diseased,"  concludes  our  nnnisterial- 
looking  gentleman,  who  might  have  been  persuaded  himself 
to  advance  a  bid,  TV  ere  he  not  so  well  versed  in  the  tenour 
of  society  that  surrounded  him. 

During  the  above  ad  interim  at  the  shambles,  our  good 
lady,  Mrs.  Rosebrook,  is  straining  every  nerve  to  induce  a 
gentleman  of  her  acquaintance  to  repair  to  the  mart,  and 
purchase  the  children  on  her  account. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

N&TTTBE  SHAMES  ITSELF. 

MRS.  ROSEBROOK  sits  in  Mrs.  Pringle's  parlour.  Mrs. 
Pringle  is  thought  well  of  in  the  city  of  Charleston,  where 
she  resides,  and  has  done  something  towards  establishing  a 
church  union  for  the  protection  of  orphan  females.  They  must, 
however,  be  purely  white,  and  without  slave  or  base  blood  in 
their  veins,  to  entitle  them  to  admittance  into  its  charitable 
precincts.  This  is  upon  the  principle  that  slave  blood  is 
not  acceptable  in  the  sight  of  Heaven ;  and  that  allowing 
its  admittance  into  this  charitable  earthly  union  would  only 
be  a  sad  waste  of  time  and  Christian  love.  Mrs.  Pringle, 
however,  feels  a  little  softened  to  the  good  cause,  and  does 
hope  Mrs.  Rosebrook  may  succeed  at  least  in  rescuing  the 
little  girl.  She  has  counselled  Mr.  Seabrook,  commonly 
called  Colonel  Seabrook,  a  very  distinguished  gentleman, 
who  has  a  very  distinguished  opinion  of  himself,  having 
studied  law  to  distinguish  himself,  and  now  and  then  merely 
practises  it  for  his  own  amusement.  Mr.  Seabrook  never  gives 
an  opinion,  nor  acts  for  his  friends,  unless  every  thing  he 
does  be  considered  distinguished,  and  gratuitously  rendered. 
"  What  will  you  do  with  such  property,  madam  ?"  inquires 
the  gentleman,  having  listened  profoundly  to  her  request. 

"  To  save  them  from  being  sold  into  the  hands  of  such 
men  as  Graspum  and  Romescos  ;  it's  the  only  motive  I  have" 
she  speaks,  gently  :  "  I  love  the  child ;  and  her  mother  still 
loves  her :  I  am  a  mother." 

"  Remember,  my  dear  lady,  they  are  adjudged  property  by 
law ;  and  all  that  you  can  do  for  them  won't  save  them,  nor 
change  the  odour  of  negro  with  which  it  has  stamped  them." 
"  Of  that  I  am  already  too  well  aware,  Mr.  Seabrook ; 
and  I  know,  too,  when  once  enslaved,  how  hard  it  is  to 
unslave.  Public  sentiment  is  the  worst  slave  we  have ; 
unslave  that,  and  the  righteousness  of  heaven  will  give  us 
hearts  to  save  ourselves  from  the  unrighteousness  of 
our  laws. 


330  NATURE  SHAMES  ITSELF. 

"  Go,  Mr.  Seabrook,  purchase  the  children  for  me,  and 
you  will  soon  see  what  ornaments  of  society  I  will  make 
them !" 

"  Ornaments  to  our  society !"  interrupts  Mr.  Seabrook, 
pausing  for  a  moment,  as  he  places  the  fore- finger  of  his 
right  hand  upon  his  upper  lip.  "  That  would  be  a  pretty 
consummation — -at  the  south !  •  Make  ornaments  of  our 
society !"  Mr.  Seabrook  turns  the  master  over  and  over 
and  over  in  his  mind.  "  Of  such  things  as  have  been  pro 
nounced  property  by  law  !  A  pretty  fix  it  would  get  our 
society  into !"  he  rejoins,  with  emphasis.  Mr.  Seabrook 
shakes  his  head  doubtingly,  and  then,  taking  three  or  four 
strides  across  the  room,  his  hands  well  down  in  -his  nether 
pockets,  relieves  himself  of  his  positive  opinion.  "  Ah ! 
ah  !  hem!  my  dear  madam,"  he  says,  "  if  you  undertake  the 
purchase  of  all  that  delicate  kind  of  property — I  mean  the 
amount  total,  as  it  is  mixed  up — your  head'll  grow  grey 
afore  you  get  all  the  bills  of  sale  paid  up, — my  word  for  it ! 
That's  my  undisguised  opinion,  backed  up  by  all  the  pale- 
faced  property  about  the  city." 

"  We  will  omit  the  opinion,  Mr.  Seabrook ;  such  have  kept*" 
our  society  where  it  now  is.  I  am  resolved  to  have  those 

children.     If  you  hesitate  to  act  for  me,  I'll  brave " 

"  Don't  say  that,  my  dear  lady.  Let  me  remind  you  that 
it  ill  becomes  a  lady  of  the  south  to  be  seen  at  a  slave- 
mart  ;  more  especially  when  such  delicate  property  is  for 
sale.  Persons  might  be  present  who  did  not  understand 
your  motive,  and  would  not  only  make  rude  advances,  but 
question  the  propriety  of  your  proceedings.  You  would 
lose  caste,  most  surely." 

Mrs.  E-osebrook  cares  little  for  Mr.  Seabrook' s  very 
learned  opinion,  knowing  that  learned  opinions  are  not 
always  the  most  sensible  ones,  and  is  seen  arranging  her 
bonnet  hastily  in  a  manner  betokening  her  intention  to 
make  a  bold  front  of  it  at  the  slave-mart.  This  is  rather  too 
much  for  Mr.  Seabrook,  who  sets  great  value  on  his  chival 
rous  virtues,  and  fearing  they  may  suffer  in  the  esteem  of  the 
softer  sex,  suddenly  proffers  his  kind  interposition,  becomes 
extremely  courteous,  begs  she  will  remain  quiet,  assuring 
her  that  no  stone  that  can  further  her  wishes  shall  be  left 
unturned.  Mr.  Seabrook  (frequently  called  the  gallaud 
colonel)  makes  one  of  his  very  best  bows,  adjusts  his  hat 


NATURE  SHAMES  ITSELF.  331 

with  exquisite  grace,  and  leaves  to  exercise  the  wisest  judg 
ment  and  strictest  faith  at  the  man-market. 

"  Such  matters  are  exceedingly  annoying  to  gentlemen  of 
my  standing,"  says  Mr.  Seabrook,  as  deliberately  he  pro 
ceeds  to  the  fulfilment  of  his  promise.  He  is  a  methodical 
gentleman,  and  having  weighed  the  matter  well  over  in  his 
legal  mind,  is  deeply  indebted  to  it  for  the  conclusion  that 
Mrs.  Rosebrook  has  got  a  very  unsystematised  crotchet  into 
her  brain.  "  The  exhibition  of  sympathy  for  '  niggers' — • 
they're  nothing  else,"  says  Mr.  Seabrook— "  much  adds  to 
that  popular  prejudice  which  is  already  placing  her  in  an 
extremely  delicate  position."  He  will  call  to  his  aid  some 
very  nice  legal  tact,  and  by  that  never-failing  unction  satisfy 
the  good  lady. 

When  Mr.  Seabrook  enters  the  mart  (our  readers  will 
remember  that  we  have  already  described  it)  he  finds  the 
children  undergoing  a  very  minute  examination  at  the  hands 
of  several  slave-dealers.  As  Mr.  Forshou,  the  very  polite 
man-seller,  is  despatching  the  rougher  quality  of  human 
merchandise,  our  hero  advances  to  the  children,  about  whose 
father  he  asks  them  unanswerable  questions.  How  interest 
ing  the  children  look ! — how  like  a  picture  of  beauty 'Annette's 
cherub  face  glows  forth  !  Being  seriously  concerned  about 
the  child,  his  countenance  wears  an  air  of  deep  thought. 
"  Colonel,  what's  your  legal  opinion  of  such  pretty  pro 
perty?"  enquires  Romescos,  who  advances  to  Mr.  Seabrook, 
and,  after  a  minute's  hesitation,  takes  the  little  girl  in  his 
arms,  rudely  kissing  her  as  she  presses  his  face  from  her 
with  her  left  hand,  and  poutingly  wipes  her  mouth  with 
her  right. 

"  Pretty  as  a  picture — Romescos  has  set  the  child  down— 
but  I  wouldn't  give  seven  coppers  for  both ;  for,  by  my 
faith,  such  property  never  does  well."  The  gentleman 
shakes  his  head  in  return.  "  It's  a  pity  they're  made  it  out 
nigger,  though, — it's  so  handsome.  Sweet  little  creature, 
that  child,  I  declare :  her  beauty  would  be  worth  a  fortune 
on  the  stage,  when  she  grows  up." 

Romescos  touches  Mr.  Seabrook  on  the  arm ;  remarks 
that  such  things  are  only  good  for  certain  purposes  ;  although 
one  can  make  them  pay  if  they  know  how  to  trade  in  them. 
But  it  wants  a  man  with  a  capable  conscience  to  do  the 
business  up  profitably.  "  No  chance  o'  your  biddin'  on  'um, 
22 


332  NATURE  SHAMES  ITSKI.F. 

is  there,  colonel  ?"  lie  enquires,  with  a  significant  leer, 
folding  his  arms  with  the  indifference  of  a  field-marshal. 
After  a  few  minutes'  pause,  during  which  Mr.  Seabrook 
seems  manufacturing  an  answer,  he  shrugs  his  shoulders, 
and  takes  a  few  pleasing  steps,  as  if  moved  to  a  waltzing 
humour.  "  Don't  scare  up  the  like  o'  that  gal-nigger 
every  day,"  he  adds.  Again,  as  if  moved  by  some  sudden 
idea,  he  approaches  Annette,  and  placing  his  hand  on  her 
head,  continues :  "  If  this  ain't  tumbling  down  a  man's 
affairs  by  the  run!  Why,  colonel,  'taint  more  nor  three 
years  since  old  Hugh  Marston  war  looked  on  as  the  tallest 
planter  on  the  Ashley  ;  and  he  thought  just  as  much  o'  these 
young  'uns  as  if  their  mother  had  belonged  to  one  of  the 
first  families.  Now — I  pity  the  poor  fellow  ! — because  he 
tried  to  save  'em  from  being  sold  as  slaves,  they — his 
creditors — think  he  hag  got  more  property  stowed  away 
somewhere.  They're  going  to  cell  him,  just  to  try  his 
talent  at  putting  away  things." 

The  "  prime  fellows"  and  wenches  of  the  darker  and 
coarser  quality  have  all  been  disposed  of;  and  the  vender 
(the  same  gentlemanly  man  we  have  described  selling 
Marston' s  undisputed  property)  now  orders  the  children  to  be 
brought  forward.  Homescos,  eagerly  seizing  them  by  t»e 
arms,  brings  them  forward  through  the  crowd,  places  them 
upon  the  stand,  before  the  eager  gaze  of  those  assembled. 
Strangely  placed  upon  the  strange  block,  the  spectators 
close  in  again,  anxious  to  gain  the  best  position  for  inspec 
tion:  but  little  children  cannot  stand  the  gaze  of  such 
an  assemblage :  no ;  Annette  turns  toward  Nicholas, 
and  with  a  childish  embrace  throws  her  tiny  arms  about  his 
neck,  buries  her  face  on  his  bosom.  The  child  of  misfor 
tune  seeks  shelter  from  that  shame  of  her  condition, 
the  evidence  of  which  is  strengthened  by  the  eager  glances 
of  those  who  stand  round  the  shambles,  ready  to  purchase 
her  fate.  Even  the  vender, — distinguished  gentleman  that 
he  is,  and  very  respectably  allied  by  marriage  to  one  of  the 
"first  families," — is  moved  with  a  strange  sense  of  wrong  at 
finding  himself  in  a  position  somewhat  repugnant  to  his 
feelings.  He  cannot  suppress  a  blush  that  indicates  an 
innate  sense  of  shame. 

"  Here  they  are,  gentlemen  !  let  no  man  say  I  have  not 
done  my  duty.      You  have,  surely,  all  seen  the  pedigree 


NATURE  SHAMES  ITSELF. 

of  these  children  set  forth  in  the  morning  papers  ;  and,  now 
that  you  have  them  before  you,  the  living  specimen  of  their 
beauty  will  fully  authenticate  anything  therein  set  forth," 
the  vender  exclaims,  aifecting  an  appearance  in  keeping 
with  his  trade.  Notwithstanding  this,  there  is  a  faltering 
nervousness  in  his  manner,  betraying  all  his  efforts  at  dis 
simulation.  He  reads  the  invoice  of  human  property  to  the 
listening  crowd,  dilates  on  its  specific  qualities  with  powers 
of  elucidation  that  would  do  credit  to  any  member  of  the 
learned  profession.  This  opinion  is  confirmed  by  Eomescos, 
the  associations  of  whose  trade  have  gained  for  him  a  very 
intimate  acquaintance  with  numerous  gentlemen  of  that 
very  honourable  profession. 

"  Now,  gentlemen,"  continues  the  vender,  "  the  honour 
able  high  sheriff  is  anxious,  and  so  am  I — and  it's  no  more 
than  a  feelin'  of  deserving  humanity,  which  every  southern 
gentleman  is  proud  to  exercise — that  these  children  be  sold 
to  good,  kind,  and  respectable  owners ;  and  that  they  do  not 
fall  into  the  hands,  as  is  generally  the  case,  of  men  who 
raise  them  up  for  infamous  purposes.  Gentlemen,  I  am 
decidedly  opposed  to  making  licentiousness  a  means  of 
profit." 

"That  neither  means  you  nor  me,"  mutters  Eomescos, 
touching  Mr.  Seabrook  on  the  arm,  shaking  his  head 
knowingly,  and  stepping  aside  to  Grraspum,  in  whose  ear 
he  whispers  a  word.  The  very  distinguished  Mr.  Grraspum 
has  been  intently  listening  to  the  outpouring  of  the 
vender's  simplicity.  What  sublime  nonsense  it  seems  to 
him  !  He  suggests  that  it  would  be  much  more  effectual  if 
it  came  from  the  pulpit, — the  southern  pulpit ! 

"  Better  sell  'um  to  some  deacon's  family,"  mutters  a 
voice  in  the  crowd. 

"  That's  precisely  what  we  should  like,  gentlemen ;  any 
bidder  of  that  description  would  get  them  on  more  favour 
able  terms  than  a  trader,  he  would,"  he  returns,  quickly. 
The  man  of  feeling,  now  wealthy  from  the  sale  of  human 
beings,  hopes  gentlemen  will  pardon  his  nervousness  on  this 
occasion.  He  never  felt  the  delicacy  of  his  profession  so 
forcibly — never,  until  now !  His  countenance  changes  with 
the  emotions  of  his  heart ;  he  blushes  as  he  looks  upon  the 
human  invoice,  glances  slily  over  the  corner  at  the  children, 


334  NATUBE  SHAMES  ITSELF. 

and  again  at  his  customers.  The  culminating  point  of  his 
profession  has  arrived ;  its  unholy  character  is  making  war 
upon  his  better  feelings.  "  I  am  not  speaking  ironically, 
gentlemen :  any  bidder  of  the  description  I  have  named 
will  get  these  children  at  a  satisfactory  figure.  Remember 
that,  and  that  I  am  only  acting  in  my  office  for  the  honour 
able  sheriff  and  the  creditors,"  he  concludes. 

"  If  that  be  the  case,"  Mr.  Seabrook  thinks  to  himself, 
"it's  quite  as  well.  Our  good  lady  friend  will  be  fully 
satisfied.  She  only  wants  to  see  them  in  good  hands : 
deacons  are  just  the  fellows."  He  very  politely  steps  aside, 
lights  his  choice  habanero,  and  sends  forth  its  curling  fumes 
as  the  bidding  goes  on. 

A  person  having  the  appearance  of  a  country  gentleman, 
who  has  been  some  time  watching  the  proceedings,  is  seen 
to  approach  Graspum  :  this  dignitary  whispers  something  in 
his  ear,  and  he  leaves  the  mart. 

"  I  saj',  squire !"  exclaims  Romescos,  addressing  him 
self  to  the  auctioneer,  "  do  you  assume  the  responsibility 
of  making  special  purchasers?  perhaps  you  had  better  keep  an 
eye  to  the  law  and  the  creditors,  you  had !  (Romescos's 
little  red  face  fires  with  excitement.)  No  objection  t'  yfcr 
sellin'  the  gal  to  deacons  and  elders, — even  to  old  Elder 
Pemberton  Praiseworthy,  who's  always  singing,  '  I  know 
that  my  Redeemer  cometh  !'  But  the  statutes  give  me  just 
as  good  a  right  to  buy  her,  as  any  first-class  deacon.  I  knows 
law,  and  got  lots  o'  lawyer  friends." 

"  The  issue  is  painful  enough,  without  any  interposition 
from  you,  my  friend,"  rejoins  the  vender,  interrupting 
Romescos  in  his  conversation.  After  a  few  minutes  pause, 
during  which  time  he  has  been  watching  the  faces  of  his 
customers,  he  adds:  "Perhaps,  seeing  how  well  mated 
they  are,  gentlemen  will  not  let  them  be  separated.  They 
have  been  raised  together." 

"Certainly!"  again  interrupts  Romescos,  "it  would  be 
a  pity  to  separate  them,  'cos  it  might  touch  somebody's 
heart." 

"  Ah,  that  comes  from  Romescos  ;  we  may  judge  of  its 
motive  as  we  please,"  rejoins  the  man  of  feeling,  taking 
Annette  by  the  arm  and  leading  her  to  the  extreme  edge  of 
the  stand.  "  Make  us  a  bid,  gentlemen,  for  the  pair.  I  can 


NATURE  SHAMES  ITSELF.  335 

see  in  the  looks  of  my  customers  that  nobody  will  be  so 
hard-hearted  as  to  separate  them.  What  do  you  offer  ?  say 
it!  Start  them ;  don't  be  bashful,  gentlemen  !" 

"  Rather  cool  for  a  hard-faced  nigger-seller!  Well,  squire, 
say  four  hundred  dollars  and  the  treats, —  that  is,  s'posin'  ye 
don't  double  my  bid  cos  I  isn't  a  deacon.  Wants  the  boy 
t'  make  a  general  on  when  he  grows  up ;  don't  want  the 
gal  at  all.  Let  the  deacon  here  (he  points  to  the  man  who 
was  seen  whispering  to  Graspum)  have  her,  if  he  wants." 
The  deacon,  as  Romescos  calls  him,  edges  his  way  through 
the  crowd  up  to  the  stand,  and  looks  first  at  the  vender 
and  then  at  the  children.  Turning  his  head  aside,  as  if  it 
may  catch  the  ears  of  several  bystanders,  Romescos  whispers, 
"That's  deacon  Staggers,  from  Pineville." 

"Like  your  bid;  but  I'm  frank  enough  to  say  I  don't 
want  you  to  have  them,  Romescos,"  interposes  the 
auctioneer^  with  a  smile. 

"  Four  hundred  and  fifty  dollars!"  is  sounded  by  a  second 
bidder.  The  vender  enquires,  "For  the  two?" 

"  Yes  !  the  pair  on  'em,"  is  the  quick  reply. 

"  Four  hundred  and  fifty  dollars!"  re-echoes  the  man  of 
feeling.  "  What  good  democrats  you  are  !  Why,  gentle 
men,  it's  not  half  the  value  of  them.  Tou  must  look  upon 
this  property  in  a  social  light ;  then  you  will  see  its 
immense  value.  It's  intelligent,  civil,  and  promisingly 
handsome ;  sold  for  no  fault,  and  here  you  are  hesitating 
on  a  small  bid. 

"  Only  four  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  for  such  property,  in 
this  enlightened  nineteenth  century  !" 

"  Trade  will  out,  like  murder.  Squii'e  wouldn't  sell  'em 
to  nobody  but  a  deacon  a  few  minutes  ago  !"  is  heard  coming 
from  a  voice  in  the  crowd.  The  vender  again  pauses,  blushes, 
and  contorts  his  face :  he  cannot  suppress  the  zest  of  his 
profession  ;  it  is  uppermost  in  his  feelings. 

Romescos  says  it  is  one  of  the  squire's  unconscious  mis 
takes.  There  is  no  use  of  humbugging ;  why  not  let  them 
run  off  to  the  highest  bidder  ? 

"  The  deacon  has  bid  upon  them ;  why  not  continue  his 
advance  ?"  says  Mr.  Seabrook,  who  has  been  smoking  his 
cigar  the  while. 

"  Oh,  well !  seein'  how  it's  the  deacon,  I  won't  stand  agin 
his  bid.  It's  Deacon  Staggers  of  Pineville ;  nobody  doubts 


836  JTATTJEE  SHAMES  ITSELF. 

his  generosity,"  ejaculates  Romescos,  in  a  growling  tone. 
The  bids  quicken, — soon  reach  six  hundred  dollars. 

"  Getting  up  pretty  well,  gentlemen !  You  must  not 
estimate  this  property  upon  their  age :  it's  the  likeliness 
and  the  promise." 

"  Six  hundred  and  twenty-five  !"  mutters  the  strange  gen 
tleman  they  call  Deacon  Staggers  from  Pineville. 

"  All  right,"  rejoins  Romescos ;  "just  the  man  what 
ought  to  have  'em.  I  motion  every  other  bidder  withdraw  in 
deference  to  the  deacon's  claim,"  rejoins  Romescos,  laughing. 

The  clever  vender  gets  down  from  the  stand,  views 
the  young  property  from  every  advantageous  angle, 
dwells  upon  the  bid,  makes  further  comments  on  its  choice- 
ness,  and  after  considerable  bantering,  knocks  them  down 

to "What  name,  sir?"  he  enquires,  staring  at  the 

stranger  vacantly. 

"  Deacon  Staggers,"  replies  the  man,  with  a  broad  grin. 
Romescos  motions  him  aside, — slips  a  piece  of  gold  into  his 
hand ;  it  is  the  price  of  his  pretensions. 

The  clerk  enters  his  name  in  the  sales  book :  "  Deacon 
Staggers,  of  Pineville,  bought  May  18th,  18 — 

"  Two  children,  very  likely  :  boy,  prime  child,  darkish  hair, 
round  figure,  intelligent  face,  not  downcast,  and  well  outlined 
in  limb.  Girl,  very  pretty,  bluish  eyes,  flaxen  hair,  very 
fair  and  very  delicate.  Price  625  dollars.  Property  of 
Hugh  Marston,  and  sold  per  order  of  the  sheriff  of  the 
county,  to  satisfy  two  fi  fas  issued  from  the  Court  of 
Common  Pleas,  &c.  &c.  &c." 

An  attendant  now  steps  forward,  takes  the  children  into 
his  charge,  and  leads  them  away.  To  where  ?  The  reader 
may  surmise  to  the  gaol.  No,  reader,  not  to  the  gaol ;  to 
Marco  Graspum's  slave-pen, — to  that  pent-up  hell  where 
the  living  are  tortured  unto  death,  and  where  yearning  souls 
are  sold  to  sink ! 

Thus  are  the  beauties  of  this  our  democratic  system  illus 
trated  in  two  innocent  children  being  consigned  to  the 
miseries  of  slave  life  because  a  mother  is  supposed  a  slave : 
a  father  has  acknowledged  them,  and  yet  they  are  sold 
before  his  eyes.  It  is  the  majesty  of  slave  law,  before  which 
good  men  prostrate  their  love  of  independence.  Democracy 
says  the  majesty  of  that  law  must  be  carried  out ;  creditors 
must  be  satisfied,  even  though  all  that  is  generous  and 


NATURE  SHAMES  ITSELF.  337 

noble  in  man  should  be  crushed  out,  and  the  rights  of  free 
men  consigned  to  oblivion.  A  stout  arm  may  yet  rise  up  in 
a  good  cause  ;  democrats  may  stand  ashamed  of  the  inhuman 
traffic,  and  seek  to  cover  its  poisoning  head  with  artifices 
and  pretences ;  but  they  write  only  an  obituary  for  the  curse. 
"  A  quaint-faced,  good-looking  country  deacon  has  bought 
them.  Very  good ;  I  can  now  go  home,  and  relieve  Mrs. 
Rosebrook's  very  generous  feelings,"  says  the  very  distin 
guished  Mr.  Seabrook,  shrugging  his  shoulders,  lighting  a 
fresh  cigar,  and  turning  toward  home  with  a  deliberate  step, 
full  of  good  tidings. 


CHAPTEE  XXIX. 

THE  VISION  OF  DEATH  HAS  PAST. 

MB.  SEABROOK  returns  to  the  mansion,  and  consoles  the 
anxious  lady  by  assuring  her  the  children  have  been  saved 
from  the  hands  of  obnoxious  traders — sold  to  a  good,  country 
deacon.  He  was  so  delighted  with  their  appearance  that  he 
could  not  keep  from  admiring  them,  and  does  not  wonder  the 
good  lady  took  so  great  an  interest  in  their  welfare.  He 
knows  the  ministerial-looking  gentleman  who  bought  them 
is  a  kind  master ;  he  has  an  acute  knowledge  of  human 
nature,  and  judges  from  his  looks.  And  he  will  further 
assure  the  good  lady  that  the  auctioneer  proved  himself  a 
gentleman — every  inch  of  him  !  He  wouldn't  take  a  single 
bid  from  a  trader,  not  even  from  old  Graspum  (he  dreads  to 
come  in  contact  with  such  a  brute  as  he  is,  when  he  gets  his 
eye  on  a  good  piece  o'  nigger  property),  with  all  his  money. 
As  soon  as  he  heard  the  name  of  a  deacon  among  the  bidders, 
something  in  his  heart  forbade  his  bidding  against  him. 

"  You  were  not  as  good  as  your  word,  Mr.  Seabrook," 
says  the  good  lady,  still  holding  Mr.  Seabrook  by  the  hand. 
"  But,  are  you  sure  there  was  no  disguise  about  the  sale  ?" 
"  Not  the  least,  madam !"  interrupts  Mr.  Seabrook, 
emphatically.  "  Bless  me,  madam,  our  people  are  too  sen 
sitive  not  to  detect  anything  of  that  kind  ;  and  too  generous 
to  allow  it  if  they  did  discover  it.  The  children — my  heart 
feels  for  them  — are  in  the  very  best  hands  ;  will  be  brought 
up  just  as  pious  and  morally.  Can't  go  astray  in  the  hands  of 
a  deacon — that's  certain  !"  Mr.  Seabrook  rubs  his  hands, 
twists  his  fingers  in  various  ways,  and  gives  utterance  to 
words  of  consolation,  most  blandly.  The  anxious  lady  seems 
disappointed,  but  is  forced  to  accept  the  assurance. 

We  need  scarcely  tell  the  reader  how  intentionally  Mr. 
Seabrook  contented  himself  with  the  deception  practised  at 
the  mart,  nor  with  what  freedom  he  made  use  of  that  blandest 
essence  of  southern  assurance, — extreme  politeness,  to  deceive 
the  lady.  She,  however,  had  long  been  laudably  engaged  in 


THE  VISION  OF  DEATH  IS  PAST.  339 

behalf  of  a  down-trodden  race ;  and  her  knowledge  of  the 
secret  workings  of  an  institution  which  could  only  cover  its 
monstrosity  with  sophistry  and  fraud  impressed  her  with 
the  idea  of  some  deception  having  been  practised.  She  well 
knew  that  Mr.  Seabrook  was  one  of  those  very  contented 
gentlemen  who  have  strong  faith  in  the  present,  and  are 
willing  to  sacrifice  the  future,  if  peace  and  plenty  be  secured 
to  their  hands.  He  had  many  times  been  known  to  listen  to 
the  advice  of  his  confidential  slaves,  and  even  to  yield  to 
their  caprices.  And,  too,  he  had  been  known  to  decry  the 
ill-treatment  of  slaves  by  brutal  and  inconsiderate  masters ; 
but  he  never  thinks  it  worth  while  to  go  beyond  expressing 
a  sort  of  rain-water  sympathy  for  the  maltreated.  With 
those  traits  most  prominent  in  his  character,  Annette  and 
Nicholas  were  to  him  mere  merchandise ;  and  whatever 
claims  to  freedom  they  might  have,  through  the  acknow 
ledgments  of  a  father,  he  could  give  them  no  consideration, 
inasmuch  as  the  law  was  paramount,  and  the  great  con 
servator  of  the  south. 

Our  worthy  benefactress  felt  the  force  of  the  above,  in  his 
reluctance  to  execute  her  commands,  and  the  manner  in 
which  he  faltered  when  questioned  about  the  purchase. 
Returning  to  her  home,  weighing  the  circumstances,  she  re 
solves  to  devise  some  method  of  ascertaining  the  true  posi 
tion  of  the  children.  "Women  are  not  to  be  outdone,"  she 
says  to  herself. 

We  must  again  beg  the  reader's  indulgence  while  accompa 
nying  us  in  a  retrograde  necessary  to  the  connection 
of  our  narrative.  WThen  we  left  Mr.  M'Padden  at  the 
crossing,  more  than  two  years  ago,  he  was  labouring  under  the 
excitement  of  a  wound  he  greatly  feared  would  close  the 
account  of  his  mortal  speculations. 

On  the  morning  following  that  great  political  gathering, 
and  during  the  night  Harry  had  so  singularly  disappeared, 
the  tavern  was  rife  with  conjectures.  On  the  piazza  and 
about  the  "bar- room"  were  a  few  stupefied  and  half-insensible 
figures  stretched  upon  benches,  or  reclining  in  chairs,  their 
coarse  garments  rent  into  tatters,  and  their  besotted  faces 
resembling  as  many  florid  masks  grouped  together  to  repre 
sent  some  demoniacal  scene  among  the  infernals  ;  others 
were  sleeping  soundly  beside  the  tables,  or  on  the  lawn. 
With  filthy  limbs  bared,  they  snored  with  painful  discord, 


340  THE  VISION  OB  DEATH  IS  PAST. 

in  superlative  contempt  of  everything  around.  Another 
party,  reeking  with  the  fumes  of  that  poisonous  drug 
upon  which  candidates  for  a  people's  favours  had  built  their 
high  expectations,  were  leaning  carelessly  against  the  rude 
counter  of  the  "  bar-room,"  casting  wistful  glances  at  the 
fascinating  bottles  so  securely  locked  within  the  lattice-work 
in  the  corner.  Oaths  of  touching  horror  are  mingling  with 
loud  calls  for  slave  attendants ,  whose  presence  they  wait 
to  quench  their  burning  thirst.  Reader  !  digest  the  moral. 
In  this  human  menagerie — in  this  sink  of  besotted  degrada 
tion — lay  the  nucleus  of  a  power  by  which  the  greatest 
interests  of  state  are  controlled. 

A  bedusted  party  of  mounted  men  have  returned  from  a 
second  ineffectual  attempt  to  recover  the  lost  preacher: 
the  appearance  of  responsibility  haunts  mine  host.  He 
assured  Mr.  Lawrence  M'Fadden  that  his  property  would 
be  perfectly  secure  under  the  lock  of  the  corn-shed.  And 
now  his  anxiety  exhibits  itself  in  the  readiness  with  which 
he  supplies  dogs,  horses,  guns,  and  such  implements  as  are 
necessary  to  hunt  down  an  unfortunate  minister  of  the 
gospel.  What  makes  the  whole  thing  worse,  was  the  report 
of  M'Faclden  having  had  a  good  sleep  and  awaking  much 
more  comfortable ;  that  there  was  little  chance  of  the  for 
tunate  issue  of  his  death.  In  this,  mine  host  saw  the  liabi 
lity  increasing  two-fold. 

He  stands  his  important  person,  (hat  off,  face  red  with 
expectancy,  and  hands  thrust  well  down  into  his  breeches 
pocket),  on  the  top  step  of  the  stairs  leading  to  the  veranda, 
and  hears  the  unfavourable  report  with  sad  discomfiture. 
"  That's  what  comes  of  making  a  preacher  of  a  slave ! 
Well !  I've  done  all  I  can.  It  puts  all  kinds  of  deviltry 
about  runnin'  away  into  their  heads,"  he  ventures  to  assert, 
as  he  turns  away,  re-enters  the  "  bar-room,"  and  invites  all 
his  friends  to  drink  at  his  expense. 

"Mark  what  I  say,  now,  Squire  Jones.  The  quickest 
way  to  catch  that  ar'  nigger  's  just  to  lay  low  and  keep 
whist.  He's  a  pious  nigger ;  and  a  nigger  can't  keep  his 
pious  a'tween  his  teeth,  no  more  nor  a  blackbird  can  his 
chattering.  The  feller  '11  feel  as  if  he  wants  to  redeem 
somebody ;  and  seein  how  'tis  so,  if  ye  just  watch  close 
eoine  Sunday  ye'll  nab  the  fellow  with  his  own  pious  bait. 
Oan  catch  a  pious  runaway  nigger  'most  any  time ;  the 


THE  VISION  OF  DEATH  IS  PAST.  341 

brute  never  knows  enough  to  keep  it  to  himself,"  says  a 
flashily  dressed  gent,  as  he  leaned  against  the  counter, 
squinted  his  eye  with  an  air  of  ponderous  satisfaction,  and 
twirled  his  tumbler  round  and  round  on  the  counter.  "  'Pears 
to  me,"  he  continues,  quizzically,  "  Squire,  you've  got  a  lot  o' 
mixed  cracker  material  here  what  it  '11  be  a  hard  manufactor 
to  make  dependable  voters  on  'lection  day:"  he  casts  a  look 
at  the  medley  of  sleepers. 

"  I  wish  the  whole  pack  on  'em  was  sold  into  slavery,  I 
do  !  They  form  six- tenths  of  the  voters  in  our  state,  and 
are  more  ignorant,  and  a  great  deal  worse  citizens,  than  our 
slaves.  Bl —  'em,  there  isn't  one  in  fifty  can  read  or  write, 
and  they're  impudenter  than  the  Governor." 

"  Hush !  hush  !  squire.  'Twon't  do  to  talk  so.  There 
ain't  men  nowhere  stand  on  dignity  like  them  fellers  ;  they 
are  the  very  bone-and-siners  of  the  unwashed,  hard-fisted 
democracy.  The  way  they'd  pull  this  old  tavern  down,  if 
they  heard  reflections  on  their  honour,  would  be  .a  caution 
to  storms.  But  how 's  old  iron-sided  M'Fadden  this  morning  ? 
Begins  to  think  of  his  niggers,  I  reckon,"  interrupts  the 
gent ;  to  which  mine  host  shakes  his  head,  despondingly. 
Mine  host  wishes  MTadden,  nigger,  candidates  and  all,  a 
very  long  distance  from  his  place. 

"  I  s'pose  he  thinks  old  Death,  with  his  grim  visage,  ain't 
going  to  call  for  him  just  now.  That's  oilers  the  way 
with  uortheners,  who  lives  atween  the  hope  of  something 
above,  and  the  love  of  makin  money  below :  they  never 
feel  bad  about  the  conscience  until  old  Davy  Jones,  Esq. 
the  gentleman  with  the  horns  and  tail,  takes  them  by  the 
nose,  and  says — come!" 

"  I  have  struck  an  idea,"  says  our  worthy  host,  suddenly 
striking  his  hand  on  the  counter.  "  I  will  put  up  a  poster. 
I  will  offer  a  big  reward.  T'other  property's  all  safe; 
there's  only  the  preacher  missing." 

"  Just  the  strike !  Give  us  yer  hand,  squire  !"  The  gent 
reaches  his  hand  across  the  counter,  and  smiles  while  cor 
dially  embracing  mine  host.  "  Make  the  reward  about  two 
hundred,  so  I  can  make  a  good  week's  work  for  the  dogs  and 
me.  Got  the  best  pack  in  the  parish  ;  one  on  'em  knows  as 
much  as  most  clergymen,  he  does !"  he  very  deliberately 
concludes,  displaying  a  wonderful  opinion  of  his  own  nigger- 
catching  philosophy. 


342  THE  VISION  OF  DEATH  IS  PAST. 

And  Mr.  Jones,  such  is  mine  host's  name,  immediately 
commenced  exercising  his  skill  in  composition  on  a  large 
poster,  which  with  a  good  hour's  labour  he  completes,  and 
posts  upon  the  ceiling  of  the  "  bar-room,"  just  below  an 
enormously  illustrated  Circus  bill. 

"  There !  now  's  a  chance  of  some  enterprise  and  some 
sense.  There's  a  deuced  nice  sum  to  be  made  at  that !" 
says  Mr.  Jones,  emphatically,  as  lie  stands  a  few  steps  back, 
and  reads  aloud  the  following  sublime  outline  of  his  genius: — 

"  G-BEAT  INDUCEMENT  FOR  SPOBTSHEN. 
Two  Hundred  Dollars  Reward. 

The  above  reward  will  be  given-  anybody  for  the  appre 
hension  of  the  nigger-boy,  Harry,  the  property  of 
Mr.  M'Fadden.  Said  Harry  suddenly  disappeared 
from  these  premises  last  night,  while  his  master  was 
supposed  to  be  dying.  The  boy's  a  well-developed 
nigger,  'ant  sassy,  got  fine  bold  head  and  round  face, 
and  intelligent  eye,  and  's  about  five  feet  eleven  inches 
high,  and  equally  proportionate  elsewhere.  He  's  much 
giv'n  to  preachiu',  and  most  likely  is  secreted  in  some  of 
the  surrounding  swamps,  where  he  will  remain  until 
tempted  to  make  his  appearance  on  some  plantation  for 
the  purpose  of  exortin  his  feller  niggers.  He  is  well 
disposed,  and  is  said  to  have  a  good  disposition,  so  that 
no  person  need  fear  to  approach  him  for  capture.  The 
above  reward  will  be  paid  upon  his  delivery  at  any  gaol 
in  the  State,  and  a  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  if  delivered 
at  any  gaol  out  of  the  State. 

"  JETHEO  JONES." 

"Just  the  instrument  to  bring  him,  Jethro!"  intimates 
our  fashionable  gent,  quizzically,  as  he  stands  a  few  feet 
behind  Mr.  Jones,  making  grimaces.  Then,  gazing  intently 
at  the  bill  for  some  minutes,  he  runs  his  hands  deep  into 
his  pockets,  affects  an  air  of  greatest  satisfaction,  and  com 
mences  whistling  a  tune  to  aid  in  suppressing  a  smile  that  is 
invading  his  countenance.  "  Wouldn't  be  in  that  nigger's 
skin  lor  a  thousand  or  more  dollars,  I  wouldn't!"  he  con 
tinues,  screeching  in  the  loudest  manner,  and  then  shaking, 
kicking,  and  rousing  the  half-animate  occupants  of  the  floor 


THE  VISION  OP  DEATH  IS  PAST.  343 

and  benches.  "  Coifle !  get  up  here !  Prize  money  ahead ! 
Fine  fun  for  a  week.  Prize  money  ahead  !  wake  up,  ye  jolly 
sleepers,  loyal  citizens,  independent  voters — wake  up,  I  say. 
Here's  fun  and  frolic,  plenty  of  whiskey,  and  two  hundred 
dollars  reward  for  every  mother's  son  of  ye  what  wants  to 
hunt  a  nigger  ;  and  he's  a  preachin  nigger  at  that !  Come ; 
whose  in  for  the  frolic,  ye  hard-faced  democracy  that  love 
to  vote  for  your  country's  good  and  a  good  cause  ?"  After 
exerting  himself  for  some  time,  they  begin  to  scramble  up 
like  so  many  bewildered  spectres  of  blackness,  troubled  to  get 
light  through  the  means  of  their  blurred  faculties. 

"  Who's  dragging  the  life  out  o'  me  ?"  exclaims  one, 
straining  his  mottled  eyes,  extending  his  wearied  limbs, 
gasping  as  if  for  breath ;  then  staggering  to  the  counter. 
Finally,  after  much  struggling,  staggering,  expressing  con 
sternation,  obscene  jeering,  blasphemous  oaths  and  filthy 
slang,  they  stand  upright,  and  huddle  around  the  notice. 
The  picture  presented  by  their  ragged  garments,  their  woe 
begone  faces,  and  their  drenched  faculties,  would,  indeed,  be 
difficult  to  transfer  to  canvas. 

"  Now,  stare !  stare  !  with  all  yer  fire-stained  eyes,  ye 
clan  of  motley  vagrants — ye  sovereign  citizens  of  a  sovereign 
state.  Two  hundred  dollars  !  aye,  two  hundred  dollars  for 
ye.  Make  plenty  o'  work  for  yer  dogs  ;  knowin  brutes  they 
are.  And  ye'll  get  whiskey  enough  to  last  the  whole 
district  more  nor  a  year,"  says  our  worthy  Jones,  standing 
before  them,  and  pointing  his  finger  at  the  notice.  They,  aa 
if  doubting  their  own  perceptibilities,  draw  nearer  and 
nearer,  straining  their  eyes,  while  their  bodies  oscillate  against 
each  other. 

Mine  host  tells  them  to  consider  the  matter,  and  be  pre- 
paredfor  action,  while  he  will  proceed  to  M'Fadden's  chamber 
and  learn  the  state  of  his  health. 

He  opens  the  sick  man's  chamber,  and  there,  to  his 
surprise,  is  the  invalid  gentleman,  deliberately  taking  his 
tea  and  toast.  Mine  host  congratulates  him  upon  his 
appearance,  extends  his  hand,  takes  a  seat  by  his  bed-side. 
"  1  had  fearful  apprehensions  about  you,  my  friend,' ' 
he  says. 

"  So  had  I  about  myself.  I  thought  I  was  going  to  slip 
it  in  right  earnest.  My  thoughts  and  feelins — how  they  wan 
dered  !"  M'Fadden  raises  his  hand  to  his  forehead,  and  slowly 


344  THE  VISION  or  DEATH  is  PAST. 

shakes  his  head.  "  I  would'nt  a'  given*much  for  the  chances, 
at  one  time ;  but  the  wound  isn't  so  bad,  after  all.  My 
nigger  property  gets  along  all  straight,  I  suppose  ?"  He 
enquires,  coolly,  rolling  his  eyes  upwards  with  a  look  of 
serious  reflection.  "  Boy  preacher  never  returned  last 
night.  It's  all  right,  though,  I  suppose  ?"  again  he  enquired, 
looking  mine  host  right  iu  the  eye,  as  if  he  discovered  some 
misgiving.  His  seriousness  soon  begins  to  give  place  te 
anxiety. 

"  That  boy  was  a  bad  nigger,"  says  mine  host,  in  a  half- 
whisper  ;  "  but  you  must  not  let  your  property  worry  you, 
my  friend." 

"  Bad  nigger !"  interrupts  the  invalid.  Mine  host  pauses 
for  a  moment,  while  MTadden  sets  his  eyes  upon  him  with 
a  piercing  stare. 

"  Not  been  cutting  up  nigger  tricks  ?"  he  ejaculates, 
enquiringly,  about  to  spring  from  his  couch  with  his  usual 
nimbleness.  Mine  host  places  his  left  hand  upon  his 
shoulder,  and  assures  him  there  is  no  cause  of  alarm. 

"  Tell  me  if  any  thing's  wrong  about  my  property.  Now 
do, — be  candid  :"  his  eyes  roll,  anxiously. 

"  All  right — except  the  preacher ;  he's  run  away,"  r»:,ine 
host  answers,  suggesting  how  much  better  it  will  be  to  take 
the  matter  cool,  as  he  is  sure  to  be  captured. 

"  What !  who — how  ?  you  don't  say  !  My  very  choicest 
piece  of  property.  Well — well !  who  will  believe  in  religion, 
after  that  ?  He  came  to  my  sick  chamber,  the  black 
vagabond  did,  and  prayed  as  piously  as  a  white  man.  And 
it  went  right  to  my  heart ;  and  I  felt  that  if  I  died  itrwould 
a'  been  the  means  o'  savin  my  soul  from  all  sorts  of  things 
infernal,"  says  the  recovering  H'Fadden.  He,  the  black 
preacher,  is  only  a  nigger  after  all ;  and  his  owner  will  have 
him  back,  or  he'll  have  his  black  hide — that  he  will !  The 
sick  man  makes  another  effort  to  rise,  but  is  calmed  into 
resignation  through  mine  host's  further  assurance  that  the 
property  will  be  "  all  right"  by  the  time  he  gets  well. 

"  How  cunning  it  was  in  the  black  vagrant !  I  shouldn't 
be  a  bit  surprised  if  he  cleared  straight  for  Massachusetts 
— Massachusetts  hates  our  State.  Her  abolitionists  will 
ruin  us  yet,  sufe  as  the  world.  We  men  of  the  South 
must  do  something  on  a  grand  scale  to  protect  our  rights 
and  our  property.  The  merchants  of  the  North  will  help 


THE  VISION  OF  DKATH  IS  PAST.  345 

us  ;  they  are  all  interested  in  slave  labour.  Cotton  is  king ; 
and  cotton  can  rule,  if  it  will.  Cotton  can  make  friendship 
strong,  and  political  power  great. 

"  There's  my  cousin  John,  ye  see ;  he  lives  north,  but  is 
married  to  a  woman  south.  He  got  her  with  seventeen 
mules  and  twenty-three  niggers.  And  there's  brother 
Jake's  daughter  was  married  to  a  planter  out  south  what 
owns  lots  o'  niggers.  And  there's  good  old  uncle  llichard ; 
he  traded  a  long  time  with  down  south  folks,  made  heaps  a 
money  tradin  niggers  in  a  sly  way,  and  never  heard  a  word 
said  about  slavery  not  being  right,  that  lie  did'nt  get 
into  a  deuce  of  a  fuss,  and  feel  like  fightin?  Two  of 
Simon  Wattler's  gals  were  married  down  south,  and  all 
the  family  connections  became  down-south  in  prin 
ciple.  And  here's  Judge  Brooks  out  here,  the  very  best 
down-south  Judge  on  the  bench  ;  he  come  from  cousin 
Ephraim's' neighbourhood,  down  east.  It's  just  this  way 
things  is  snarled  up  a'tween  us  and  them  ar'  fellers  down 
New  England  way.  It  keeps  up  the  strength  of  our 
peculiar  institution, though.  And  southern  Editors  !  just  look 
at  them ;  why,  Lord  love  yer  soul !  two  thirds  on'  em  are 
imported  from  down-north  way ;  and  they  make  the  very 
best  southern-principled  men.  I  thought  of  that  last  night, 
when  Mr.  Jones  with  the  horns  looked  as  if  he  would  go 
with  him.  But,  I'll  have  that  preachin  vagrant,  I'll  have 
him !"  says  Mr.  M'Padden,  emphatically,  seeming  much 
more  at  rest  about  his  departing  affairs.  As  the  shadows  of 
death  fade  from  his  sight  into  their  proper  distance, 
worldly  figures  and  property  justice  resume  their  wonted 
possession  of  his  thoughts. 

Again,  as  if  suddenly  seized  with  pain,  he  contorts  his  face, 
and  enquires  in  a  half-whisper — "  What  if  this  wound 
should  mortify  ?  would  death  follow  quickly  ?  I'm  dubious 
yet!" 

Mine  host  approaches  nearer  his  bed-side,  takes  his  hand. 
M'Fadden,  with  much  apparent  meekness,  would  know 
what  he  thought  of  his  case  ? 

He  is  assured  by  the  kind  gentleman  that  he  is  entirely 
out  of  danger — worth  a  whole  parish  of  dead  men.  At  the 
same  time,  mine  host  insinuates  that  he  will  never  do  to  fight 
duels  until  he  learns  to  die  fashionably. 

IVL'Eadden  smiles, — remembers  how  many  men  have  been 


846  THE  VISION  OF  DEATH  IS  PAST. 

nearly  killed  and  yet  escaped  the  undertaker , — seems  to  have 
regained  strength,  and  calls  for  a  glass  of  whiskey  and 
water.  Not  too  strong!  but,  reminding  mine  Lost  of  the 
excellent  quality  of  his  bitters,  he  suggests  that  a  little  may 
better  his  case. 

"I  didn't  mean  the  wound,"  resuming  his  anxiety  for 
the  lost  preacher :  "  I  meant  the  case  of  the  runaway  ?" 

"  Oh !  oh  !  bless  me !  he  will  forget  he  is  a  runaway  piece 
of  property  in  his  anxiousness  to  put  forth  his  spiritual 
inclinations.  That's  what'li  betray  the  scamp  ; — nigger  will 
be  nigger,  you  know  !  They  can't  play  the  lawyer,  nohow," 
mine  host  replies,  with  an  assurance  of  his  ability  to  judge 
negro  character.  This  is  a  new  idea,  coming  like  the  dew- 
drops  of  heaven  to  relieve  his  anxiety.  The  consoling 
intelligence  makes  him  feel  more  comfortable. 

The  whiskey-and-bitters — mostunpoetic  drink — isbrought 
to  his  bed-side.  He  tremblingly  carries  it  to  his  lips,  sips 
and  sips  ;  then,  with  one  gulp,  empties  the  glass.  At  this 
moment  the  pedantic  physician  makes  his  appearance,  scents 
the  whiskey,  gives  a  favourable  opinion  of  its  application 
as  a  remedy  in  certain  cases.  The  prescription  is  not  a 
bad  one.  Climate,  and  such  a  rusty  constitution  as  Mr. 
M'Fadden  is  blest  with,  renders  a  little  stimulant  very 
necessary  to  keep  up  the  one  thing  needful — courage ! 
The  patient  complins  bitterly  to  the  man  of  pills  and 
powders ;  tells  a  great  many  things  about  pains  and  fears. 
What  a  dreadful  thing  if  the  consequence  had  proved  fatal ! 
He  further  thinks  that  it  was  by  the  merest  act  of  Pro 
vidence,  in  such  a  desperate  affray,  he  had  not  been  killed 
outright.  A  great  many  bad  visions  have  haunted  him  in 
his  dreams,  and  he  is  very  desirous  of  knowing  what  the  man 
of  salts  and  senna  thinks  about  the  true  interpretation  of 
such.  About  the  time  he  was  dreaming  such  dreams  he 
was  extremely  anxious  to  know  how  the  spiritual  character 
of  slave-holders  stood  on  the  records  of  heaven,  and 
whether  the  fact  of  slave-owning  would  cause  the 
insertion  of  an  item  in  the  mortal  warrant  forming  the 
exception  to  a  peaceful  conclusion  with  the  Father's  for 
giveness.  He  felt  as  if  he  would  surely  die  during  the 
night  past,  and  his  mind  became  so  abstracted  about  what 
he  had  done  in  his  life, — what  was  to  come,  how  negro 
property  had  been  treated,  how  it  should  be  treated, — that, 


THE  VISION  OF  DEATH  IS  PAST.  347 

although  he  had  opinions  now  and  then  widely  different,  it 
had  left  a  problem  which  would  take  him  all  his  life-time  to 
solve, — if  he  should  live  ever  so  long.  And,  too,  there  were 
these  poor  wretches  accidentally  shot  down  at  his  side ;  his 
feelings  couldn't  withstand  the  ghostly  appearance  of  their 
corpses  as  he  was  carried  past  them,  perhaps  to  be  buried 
in  the  same  forlorn  grave,  the  very  next  day.  All  these 
things  reflected  their  results  through  the  morbidity  of  Mr. 
M'Fadden' s  mind ;  but  his  last  observation,  showing  how 
slender  is  the  cord  between  life  and  death,  proved  what 
was  uppermost  in  his  mind.  "  You'll  allow  I'm  an  honest 
man  ?  I  have  great  faith  in  your  opinion,  Doctor !  And  if 
I  have  been  rather  go-ahead  with  my  niggers,  my  virtue  in 
business  matters  can't  be  sprung,"  he  mutters.  The  phy 
sician  endeavours  to  calm  his  anxiety,  by  telling  him  he  is 
a  perfect  model  of  goodness, — a  just,  honest,  fearless,  and 
enterprising  planter  j  and  that  thase  attributes  of  our  better 
nature  constitute  such  a  balance  in  the  scale  as  will  give 
any  gentleman  slaveholder  very  large  claims  to  that  spiritual 
proficiency  necessary  for  the  world  to  come. 

Mr.  M'Fadden  acquiesces  in  the  correctness  of  this 
remark,  but  desires  to  inform  the  practitioner  what  a  sad 
loss  he  has  met  with.  He  is  sure  the  gentleman  will 
scarcely  believe  his  word  when  he  tells  him  what  it  is.  "  I 
saw  how  ye  felt  downright  affected  when  that  nigger  o'  mine 
prayed  with  so  much  that  seemed  like  honesty  and  Chris 
tianity,  last  night,"  he  says. 

"Yes,"  interrupts  the  man  of  medicine,  "he  was  a 
wonderful  nigger  that.  I  never  heard  such  natural  eloquence 
nor  such  pathos ;  he  is  a  wonder  among  niggers,  he  is ! 
JExtraordinary  fellow  for  one  raised  up  on  a  plantation. 
Pity,  almost,  that  such  a  clergyman  should  be  a  slave." 

"  You  don't  say  so,  Doctor,  do  you  ?  "Well !  I've  lost  him 
just  when  I  wanted  him  most." 

"He  is  not  dead  ?"  enquires  the  physician,  suddenly 
interrupting.  He  had  seen  Mr.  M'Fadden's  courage  fail  at 
the  approach  of  death,  and  again  recover  quickly  when  the 
distance  widened  between  that  monitor  and  himself,  and 
could  not  suppress  the  smile  stealing  over  his  countenance. 

"  Dead  !  no  indeed.  Worse — he  has  run  away !"  Mr. 
M'Fadden  quickly  retorted,  clenching  his  right  hand,  and 
scowling.  In  another  minute  he  turns  back  the  sheets,  and, 


848  THE  TISTON  OF  DEATH  IS  PAST. 

•with  returned  strength,  makes  a  successful  attempt  to  sit 
up  in  bed.  "I  dcm't  know  whether  I'm  better  or  worse; 
but  I  think  it  would  be  all  right  if  I  warn't  worried  so 
much  about  the  loss  of  that  preacher.  I  paid  a  tremendous 
sum  for  him.  And  the  worst  of  it  is,  my  cousin  deacon 
Stoner,  of  a  down-east  church,  holds  a  mortgage  on  my 
nigger  stock,  and  he  may  feel  streaked  when  he  hears  of  the 
loss ;"  Mr.  MTadden  concludes,  holding  his  side  to  the 
physician,  who  commences  examining  the  wound,  which  the 
enfeebled  man  says  is  very  sore  and  must  be  dressed 
cautiously,  so  that  he  may  be  enabled  to  get  out  and  see  to 
his  property. 

To  the  great  surprise  of  all,  the  wound  turns  out  to  be 
merely  a  slight  cut,  with  no  appearance  of  inflammation, 
and  every  prospect  of  being  cured  through  a  further  appli 
cation  of  a  very  small  bit  of  dressing  plaster. 

The  physician  smiled,  mine  host  smiled ;  it  was  impossible 
to  suppress  the  risible  faculties.  The  poor  invalid  is 
overpowered  with  disappointment.  His  imagination  had 
betrayed  him  into  one  of  those  desperate,  fearful,  and 
indubitable  brinks  of  death,  upon  which  it  seems  the  first  law 
of  nature  reminds  us  what  is  necessary  to  die  by.  They 
laughed,  and  laughed,  and  laughed,  till  Mr.  M'Fadden 
suddenly  changed  countenance,  and  said  it  was  no  laughing 
affair, — such  things  were  not  to  be  trifled  with ;  men  should 
be  thinking  of  more  important  matters.  And  he  looked  at 
the  wound,  run  his  fingers  over  it  gently,  and  rubbed  it  as 
if  doubting  the  depth. 

" A  little  more  whiskey  would'nt  hurt  me,  Doctor?"  he 
enquires,  complacently,  looking  round  the  room  distrustfully 
at  those  who  were  enjoying  the  joke,  more  at  his  expense 
than  he  held  to  be  in  accordance  with  strict  rules  of  etiquette. 

"  I'll  admit,  my  worthy  citizen,  your  case  seemed  to  baffle 
my  skill,  last  night,"  the  physician  replies,  jocosely.  "  Had  I 
taken  your  political  enthusiasm  into  consideration, — and 
your  readiness  to  instruct  an  assemblage  in  the  holy  demo 
cracy  of  our  south, — and  your  hopes  of  making  strong 
draughts  do  strong  political  work,  I  might  have  saved  my 
opiate,  and  administered  to  your  case  more  in  accordance 
with  the  skilfully  administered  prescriptions  of  our  poli 
ticians.  Notwithstanding,  I  am  glad  you  are  all  right,  and 
trust  that  whenever  you  get  your  enthusiasm  fired  with 


THE  VISION  OF  DEATH  IS  PAST.  349 

bad  brandy,  or  the  candidates'  bad  whiskey,  you  will  not  tax 
other  people's  feelings  with  your  own  dying  affairs ;  nor 
send  for  a  '  nigger'  preacher  to  redeem  your  soul,  who  will 
run  away  when  he  thinks  the  job  completed." 

Mr.  M'Fadden  seemed  not  to  comprehend  the  nature  of 
his  physician's  language,  and  after  a  few  minutes  pause 
he  must  needs  enquire  about  the  weather  ?  if  a  coroner's 
inquest  has  been  held  over  the  dead  men  ?  what  was  its 
decision  ?  was  there  any  decision  at  all  ?  and  have  they  been 
buried  ?  Satisfied  on  all  these  points,  he  gets  up,  himself 
again,  complaining  only  of  a  little  muddled  giddiness  about 
the  head,  and  a  hip  so  sore  that  he  scarcely  could  reconcile 
his  mind  to  place  confidence  in  it. 

"Good  by!  good  by !"  says  the  physician,  shaking  him 
by  the  hand.  "  Measure  the  stimulant  carefully ;  and  take 
good  care  of  dumplin  depot  No.  1,  and  you'll  be  all  right 
very  soon.  You're  a  good  democrat,  and  you'll  make  as  good 
a  stump  orator  as  ever  took  the  field." 

The  man  of  medicine,  laughing  heartily  within  himself, 
descends  the  stairs  and  reaches  the  bar-room,  where  are 
concentrated  sundry  of  the  party  we  have  before  described. 
They  make  anxious  enquiries  about  Mr.  M'Fadden, — how 
he  seemed  to  "  take  it  ;"  did  he  evince  want  of  pluck  ?  had 
he  courage  enough  to  fight  a  duel  ?  and  could  his  vote  be 
taken  afore  he  died  ?  These,  and  many  other  questions  of 
a  like  nature,  were  put  to  the  physician  so  fast,  and  with 
so  many  invitations  to  drink  "  somethin',"  that  he  gave  a 
sweeping  answer  by  saying  Mac  had  been  more  frightened 
than  hurt ;  that  the  fear  of  death  having  passed  from 
before  his  eyes  his  mind  had  now  centered  on  the  loss  of  his 
nigger  preacher — a  valuable  piece  of  property  that  had  cost 
him  no  less  than  fifteen  hundred  dollars.  And  the  worst  of  it 
was,  that  the  nigger  had  aggravatingly  prayed  for  him  when 
he  thought  he  was  going  to  sink  out  into  the  arms  of 
father  death. 

So  pressing  were  the  invitations  to  drink,  that  our  man 
of  medicine  advanced  to  the  counter,  like  a  true  gentleman 
of  the  south,  and  with  his  glass  filled  with  an  aristocratic 
mixture,  made  one  of  his  politest  bows,  toasted  the  health 
of  all  free  citizens,  adding  his  hope  for  the  success  of  the 
favourite  candidate. 

"  Drink  it  with  three  cheers,  standin' !"  shouted  a  formi- 


350  THE  VISION  or  DEATH  is  PAST. 

dably  -mustached  figure,  leaning  against  the  counter  with 
his  left  hand,  while  his  right  was  grasping  the  jug  from 
which  he  was  attempting  in  vain  to  water  his  whiskey.  To 
this  the  physic  gentleman  bows  assent ;  and  they  are 
given  to  the  very  echo.  Taking  his  departure  for  the  city, 
as  the  sounds  of  cheering  die  away,  he  emerged  from 
the  front  door,  as  Mr.  MTadden,  unexpectedly  as  a 
ghost  rising  from  the  tomb,  made  his  entrance  from  the  old 
staircasein  the  back.  The  citizens — forof  suchis  our  assembly 
composed — are  astonished  and  perplexed.  "  Such  a  set  of 
scapegoats  as  you  are  I"  grumbles  out  the  debutant,  as  he 
stands  before  them  like  a  disentombed  spectre.  "With  open 
arms  they  approach  him,  congratulate  him  on  his  recovery, 
and  shower  upon  him  many  good  wishes,  and  long  and 
strong  drinks. 

A  few  drinks  more,  and  our  hero  is  quite  satisfied  with 
his  welcome.  His  desire  being  intimated,  mine  host 
conducts  himself  to  the  corn-shed,  where  he  satisfies 
himself  that  his  faithful  property  (the  preacher  excepted) 
is  all  snugly  safe.  Happy  property  in  the  hands  of  a  pro 
digious  democrat !  happy  republicanism  that  makes  freedom 
but  a  privilege !  that  makes  a  mockery  of  itself,  and  enslaves 
the  noblest  blood  of  noble  freemen  !  They  were  happy,  the 
victims  of  ignorance,  contented  with  the  freedom  their 
country  had  given  them,  bowing  beneath  the  enslaving  yoke 
of  justice-boasting  democracy,  and  ready  to  be  sold  and 
shipped,  with  an  invoice  of  freight,  at  the  beckon  of 
an  owner. 

Mr.  M'Fadden  questions  the  people  concerning  Harry's 
departure ;  but  they  are  as  ignorant  of  his  whereabouts  as 
himself.  They  only  remember  that  he  came  to  the  shed  at 
midnight,  whispered  some  words  of  consolation,  and  of  his 
plain  fare  gave  them  to  eat ; — nothing  more. 

"  Poor  recompense  for  my  goodness  !"  says  Mr.  M'Fadden, 
muttering  some  indistinct  words  as  he  returns  to  the  tavern, 
followed  by  a  humorous  negro,  making  grimaces  in  satisfac 
tion  of  "  mas'r's  "  disappointment  Now  friends  are  gathered 
together,  chuckling  in  great  glee  over  the  large  reward 
offered  for  the  lost  parson,  for  the  capture  of  which  abscond 
ing  article  they  have  numerous  horses,  dogs,  confidential 
negroes,  and  a  large  supply  of  whiskey,  with  which  very 
necessary  liquid  they  will  themselves  become  dogs  of  one 


THE  VISION  OF  DEATH  IS  PAST.  351 

kine.  The  game  to  be  played  is  purely  a  democratic  one ;  hence 
the  clansmen  are  ready  to  loosen  their  souls'  love  for  the  ser 
vice.  M'Fadden  never  before  witnessed  such  satisfactory  proofs 
of  his  popularity ;  his  tenderest  emotions  are  excited ;  he  can 
not  express  the  fullness  of  his  heart ;  he  bows,  puts  his  hand  to 
his  heart,  orders  the  balance  of  his  invoice  sent  to  his  plantation, 
mounts  his  horse,  and  rides  off  at  full  gallop,  followed  by  his 
friends. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

A  FRIEND  IS  WOMAN. 

THE  reader  will  again  accompany  us  to  the  time  when  we  find 
Annette  and  Nicholas  in  the  hands  of  Graspum,  who  will  nurture 
them  for  their  increasing  value. 

Merciless  creditors  have  driven  Marston  from  that  home 
of  so  many  happy  and  hospitable  associations,  to  seek 
shelter  in  the  obscure  and  humble  chamber  of  a  wretched 
building  in  the  outskirts  of  the  city.  Fortune  can  afford 
him  but  a  small  cot,  two  or  three  broken  chairs,  an  ordinary 
deal  table,  a  large  chest,  which  stands  near  the  fire-place, 
and  a  dressing-stand,  for  furniture.  Here,  obscured  from 
the  society  he  had  so  long  mingled  with,  he  spends  most  of 
his  time,  seldom  venturing  in  public  lest  he  may  encounter 
those  indomitable  gentlemen  who  would  seem  to  love  the 
following  misfortune  into  its  last  stage  of  distress.  His 
worst  enemy,  however,  is  that  source  of  his  misfortunes 
he  cannot  disclose ;  over  it  hangs  the  mystery  he  must  not 
solve  !  It  enshrines  him  with  guilt  before  public  opinion  ; 
by  it  his  integrity  lies  dead ;  it  is  that  which  gives  to  mother 
rumour  the  weapons  with  which  to  wield  her  keenest 
slanders. 

Having  seized  Marston's  real  estate,  Graspum  had  no 
scruples  about  swearing  to  the  equity  of  his  claim ;  nor 
were  any  of  the  creditors  willing  to  challenge  an  investiga 
tion  ;  and  thus,  through  fear  of  such  a  formidable  abettor, 
Marston  laboured  under  the  strongest,  and  perhaps  the 
most  unjust  imputations.  But  there  was  no  limit  to 
Graspum' s  mercenary  proceedings ;  for  beyond  involving 
Marston  through  Lorenzo,  he  had  secretly  purchased  many 
claims  of  the  creditors,  and  secured  his  money  by  a  dexte 
rous  movement,  with  which  he  reduced  the  innocent  children 
to  slavery. 

Reports  have  spread  among  the  professedly  knowing  that 
Marston  can  never  have  made  away  with  all  his  property  in 
BO  few  years.  And  the  manner  being  so  invisible,  the 


A  FEIEND  IS  WOilAlf.  653 

charge  becomes  stronger.  Thus,  labouring  between  the  pain  of 
misfortune  and  the  want  of  means  to  resent  suspicion,  his 
cheerless  chamber  is  all  he  can  now  call  his  home.  But  he 
has  two  good  friends  left — Franconia,  and  the  old  negro 
Bob.  Franconia  has  procured  a  municipal  badge  for  Daddy; 
and,  through  it  (disguised)  he  seeks  and  obtains  work  at 
stowing  cotton  on  the  wharfs.  His  earnings  are  small, 
but  his  soul  is  large,  and  erabued  'with  attachment  for  his 
old  master,  with  whom  he  will  share  them.  Day  by  day  the 
old  slave  seems  to  share  the  feelings  of  his  master, — to 
exhibit  a  solicitous  concern  for  his  comfort.  Earning  his 
dollars  and  twenty-five  cents  a  day,  he  will  return  when  the 
week  has  ended,  full  of  exultation,  spread  out  his  earnings 
with  childlike  simplicity,  take  thirty  cents  a  day  for  himself, 
and  slip  the  remainder  into  Marston's  pocket.  How  happy 
he  seems,  as  he  watches  the  changes  of  Marston's  counte 
nance,  and  restrains  the  gushing  forth  of  his  feelings  ! 

It  was  on  one  of  those  nights  upon  which  Daddy  had 
received  his  earnings,  that  Marston  sat  in  his  cheerless 
chamber,  crouched  over  the  faint  blaze  of  a  few  pieces  of 
wood  burning  on  the  bricks  of  his  narrow  fire-place,  con 
templating  the  eventful  scenes  of  the  few  years  just  passed. 
The  more  he  contemplated  the  more  it  seemed  like  a  dream ; 
his  very  head  wearied  with  the  interminable  maze  of  his 
difficulties.  Further  and  further,  as  he  contemplated,  did  it 
open  to  his  thoughts  the  strange  social  and  political  mystery 
of  that  more  strange  institution  for  reducing  mankind  to 
the  level  of  brutes.  And  yet,  democracy,  apparently  honest, 
held  such  inviolable  and  just  to  its  creed;  which  creed  it  would 
defend  with  a  cordon  of  steel.  The  dejected  gentleman, 
sighs,  rests  his  head  on  his  left  hand,  and  his  elbow  on 
the  little  table  at  his  side.  "Without,  the  weather  is  cold 
and  damp  ;  an  incessant  rain  had  pattered  upon  the  roof 
throughout  the  day,  wild  and  murky  clouds  hang  their 
dreary  festoons  along  the  heavens,  and  swift  scudding  fleeces, 
driven  by  fierce,  murmuring  winds,  bespread  the  prospect 
with  glooni  that  finds  its  way  into  the  recesses  of  the 
heart. 

"Who  is  worse  than  a  slave!"  sighs  the  rejected  man, 
getting  up  and  looking  out  of  his  window  into  the  dreary 
recesses  of  the  narrow  lane.  "  If  it  be  not  a  ruined  planter 
I  mistake  the  policy  by  which  we  govern  our  institution ! 


354  A  FBIENJ>  IS  WOMAW. 

As  the  slave  is  born  a  subject  being,  so  is  the  planter  a 
dependent  being.  "We  planters  live  in  disappointment, 
in  fear,  in  unhappy  uncertainty ;  and  yet  we  make  no  pre 
parations  for  the  result.  Nay,  we  even  content  ourselves 
with  pleasantly  contemplating  what  may  come  through  the 
eventful  issue  of  political  discord ;  and  when  it  comes  in 
earnest,  we  find  ourselves  the  most  hapless  of  unfortunates. 
For  myself,  bereft  of  all  I  had  once, — even  friends,  I  am 
but  a  forlorn  object  in  the  scale  of  weak  mankind  !  No 
man  will  trust  me  with  his  confidence, — scarce  one  knows 
me  but  to  harass  me  ;  I  can  give  them  no  more,  and  yet  I 
am  suspected  of  having  more.  It  is  so,  and  ever  will  be 
so.  Such  are  the  phases  of  man's  downfall,  that  few  follow 
them  to  the  facts,  while  rumour  rules  supreme  over  misfor 
tune.  There  may  be  a  fountain  of  human  pain  concealed 
beneath  it ;  but  few  extend  the  hand  to  stay  its  quickening. 
Nay,  when  all  is  gone,  mammon  cries,  more !  until  body 
and  soul  are  crushed  beneath  the  "  more"  of  relentless  self. 

"  Few  know  the  intricacies  of  our  system  ;  perhaps  'twere 
well,  lest  our  souls  should  not  be  safe  within  us.  But,  ah  ! 
my  conscience  chides  me  here.  And  betwixt  those  feelings 
which  once  saw  all  things  right,  but  now  through  necessity 
beholds  their  grossest  wrongs,  comes  the  pain  of  self-con 
demnation.  It  is  a  condemnation  haunting  me  unto  death. 
Had  I  been  ignorant  of  Clotilda's  history,  the  fiendish  deed 
of  those  who  wronged  her  in  her  childhood  had  not  now 
hung  like  a  loathsome  pestilence  around  my  very  garments. 
That  which  the  heart  rebukes  cannot  be  concealed ;  but  we 
must  be  obedient  to  the  will  that  directs  all  things ; — and  if 
it  be  that  we  remain  blind  in  despotism  until  misfortune 
opens  our  eyes,  let  the  cause  of  the  calamity  be  charged  to  those 
it  belongs  to,"  he  concludes ;  and  then,  after  a  few  minutes' 
silence,  he  lights  his  taper,  and  sets  it  upon  the  table.  His 
care-worn  countenance  pales  with  melancholy ;  his  hair  has 
whitened  with  tribulation ;  his  demeanour  denotes  a  man  of 
tender  sensibility  fast  sinking  into  a  physical  wreck.  A 
well-soiled  book  lies  on  the  table,  beside  which  he  takes  his 
seat ;  he  turns  its  pages  over  and  over  carelessly,  as  if  it  were 
an  indiiferent  amusement  to  wile  away  the  time.  "They 
cannot  enslave  affection,  nor  can  they  confine  it  within 
prison  walls,"  he  mutters.  He  has  proof  in  the  faithfulness 
of  Daddy,  his  old  slave.  And  as  he  contemplates,  the  words 


A  FRIEND  IS  WOMAN.  355 

"  she  will  be  more  than  welcome  to-night,"  escape  his  lips. 
Simultaneously  a  gentle  tapping  is  heard  at  the  door.  Slowly 
it  opens,  and  the  figure  of  an  old  negro,  bearing  a  basket  on 
his  arm,  enters.  He  is  followed  by  the  slender  and  grace 
ful  form  of  Frariconia,  who  approaches  her  uncle,  hand 
extended,  salutes  him  with  a  kiss,  seats  herself  at  his  side, 
says  he  must  not  be  sad.  Then  she  silently  gazes  upon  him 
for  a  few  moments,  as  if  touched  by  his  troubles,  while  the 
negro,having  spread  the  contents  of  the  basket  upon  the  chest, 
makes  a  humble  bow,  wishes  mas'r  and  missus  good  night, 
and  withdraws.  "  There,  uncle,"  she  says,  laying  her  hand 
gently  on  his  arm,  "  I  didn't  forget  you,  did  I  ?"  She 
couples  the  word  with  a  smile — a  smile  so  sweet,  so  expres 
sive  of  her  soul's  goodness.  "  You  are  dear  to  me,  uncle ; 
yes,  as  dear  as  a  father.  How  could  I  forget  that  you  have 
been  a  father  to  me  ?  I  have  brought  these  little  things  to 
make  you  comfortable," — she  points  to  the  edibles  on  the 
chest — and  I  wish  I  were  not  tied  to  a  slave,  uncle,  for 
then  I  could  do  more.  Twice,  since  my  marriage  to 
M'Carstrow,  have  I  had  to  protect  myself  from  his  ruffian 
ism." 

"From  his  ruffianism!"  interrupts  Marston,  quickly: 
"  Can  it  be,  my  child,  that  even  a  ruffian  would  dare  exhibit 
his  vileness  toward  you?" 

"Even  toward  me,  uncle.  With  reluctance  I  married 
him,  and  my  only  regret  is,  that  a  slave's  fate  bad  not  been 
mine  ere  the  fruits  of  that  day  fell  upon  me.  Women  like 
me  make  a  feeble  defence  in  the  world ;  and  bad  husbands 
are  the  shame  of  their  sex,"  she  returns,  her  eyes  bright 
ening  with  animation,  as  she  endeavours  to  calm  the  excite 
ment  her  remarks  have  given  rise  to  :  "  Don't,  pray  don't 
mind  it,  uncle,"  she  concludes. 

"  Such  news  had  been  anticipated ;  but  I  was  cautious  not 
to"— 

"  Never  mind,"  she  interrupts,  suddenly  coiling  her  deli 
cate  arm  round  his  neck,  and  impressing  a  kiss  on  his  care 
worn  cheek.  "  Let  us  forget  these  things  ;  they  are  but  the 
fruits  of  weak  nature.  It  were  better  to  bear  up  under 
trouble  than  yield  to  trouble's  burdens  :  better  far.  Who 
knows  but  that  it  is  all  for  the  best  ?"  She  rises,  and,  with 
seeming  cheerfulness,  proceeds  to  spread  the  little  table 
with  the  refreshing  tokens  of  her  friendship.  Yielding  to 


356  A  FRIEND  IS  WOMAN. 

necessity,  the  table  is  spread,  and  they  sit  down,  with  an 
appearance  of  domestic  quietness  touchingly  humble. 

"  There  is  some  pleasure,  after  all,  in  having  a  quiet  spot 
where  we  can  sit  down  and  forget  our  cares.  Perhaps  (all 
said  and  done)  a  man  may  call  himself  prince  of  his  own 
garret,  when  he  can  forget  all  beyond  it,"  says  Marston, 
affected  to  tears  by  Franconia's  womanly  resignation. 

"  Yes,"  returns  Franconia,  joyously,  "  it's  a  consolation 
to  know  that  we  have  people  among  us  much  worse  off  than 
we  are.  I  confess,  though,  I  feel  uneasy  about  our  old 
slaves.  Slavery's  wrong,  uncle  ;  and  it's  when  one's  reduced 
to  such  extremes  as  are  presented  in  this  uninviting  garret 
that  we  realise  it  the  more  forcibly.  It  gives  the  poor 
wretches  no  chance  of  bettering  their  condition  ;  and  if  one 
exhibits  ever  so  much  talent  over  the  other,  there  is  no 
chance  left  him  to  improve  it.  It  is  no  recompense  to  the 
slave  that  his  talent  only  increases  the  price  of  the  article 
to  be  sold.  Look  what  Harry  would  have  been  had  he 
enjoyed  freedom.  Uncle,  we  forget  our  best  interests  while 
pondering  over  the  security  of  a  bad  system.  Would  it  not 
be  better  to  cultivate  the  slave's  affections,  rather  than  op 
press  his  feelings  ?"  Franconia  has  their  cause  at  heart — 
forgets  her  own.  She  is  far  removed  from  the  cold  specu 
lations  of  the  south ;  she  is  free  from  mercenary  motives ; 
unstained  by  that  principle  of  logic  which  recognises  only 
the  man  merchandise.  No  will  hath  she  to  contrive  inge 
nious  apologies  for  the  wrongs  inflicted  upon  a  fallen  race. 
Her  words  spring  from  the  purest  sentiment  of  the  soul ; 
they  contain  a  smarting  rebuke  of  Marston's  former  mis 
doings  :  but  he  cannot  resent  it,  nor  can  he  turn  the  tide  of 
his  troubles  against  her  noble  generosity. 

They  had  eaten  their  humble  supper  of  meats  and  bread, 
and  coffee,  when  Francouia  hears  a  rap  at  the  lower  entrance, 
leading  into  the  street.  Bearing  the  taper  in  her  hand,  she 
descends  the  stairs  quickly,  and,  opening  the  door,  recog 
nises  the  smiling  face  of  Daddy  Bob.  Daddy  greets  her  as 
if  he  were  surcharged  with  the  very  best  news  for  old  mas'r 
and  missus.  He  laughs  in  the  exuberance  of  his  simplicity, 
and,  with  an  air  of  fondness  that  would  better  become  a  child, 
says,  "  Lor',  young  missus,  how  glad  old  Bob  is  to  see  ye  ! 
Seems  like  long  time  since  old  man  see'd  Miss  Frankone 
look  so  spry.  Got  dat  badge."  The  old  man  shows  her 


A  FRIEND  IS  WOMAN.  '357 

his  badge,  exultingly.  "  Missus,  nobody  know  whose  nigger 
I'm's,  and  old  Bob  arns  a  right  smart  heap  o'  money  to  make 
mas'r  comfortable."  The  old  slave  never  for  once  thinks  of 
his  own  infirmities  ;  no,  his  attachment  for  master  soars 
above  every  thing  else ;  he  thinks  only  in  what  way  he  can 
relieve  his  necessities.  Honest,  faithful,  and  affectionate, 
the  associations  of  the  past  are  uppermost  in  his  mind  ;  he 
forgets  his  slavery  in  his  love  for  master  and  the  old  plan 
tation.  Readily  would  he  lay  down  his  life,  could  he,  by  so 
doing,  lighten  the  troubles  he  instinctively  sees  in  the 
changes  of  master's  position.  The  old  plantation  and  its 
people  have  been  sold  ;  and  he,  being  among  the  separated 
from  earth's  chosen,  must  save  his  infirm  body  lest  some 
man  sell  him  for  the  worth  thereof.  Bob's  face  is  white 
with  beard,  and  his  coarse  garments  are  much  worn  and 
ragged ;  but  there  is  something  pleasing  in  the  familiarity 
with  which  Franconia  accepts  his  brawny  hand.  How  free 
from  that  cold  advance,  that  measured  welcome,  and  that 
religious  indifference,  with  which  the  would-be  friend  of  the 
slave,  at  the  north,  too  often  accepts  the  black  man's 
hand  !  There  is  something  in  the  fervency  with  which  she 
shakes  his  wrinkled  hand  that  speaks  of  the  goodness  of  the 
heart ;  something  that  touches  the  old  slave's  childlike  na 
ture.  He  smiles  bashfully,  and  says,  "  Grlad  t'  see  ye, 
missus  ;  dat  I  is :  'spishilly  ven  ye  takes  care  on  old  mas'r." 
After  receiving  her  salutation  he  follows  her  to  the  chamber, 
across  which  he  hastens  to  receive  a  welcome  from  old 
mas'r.  Marston  warmly  receives  his  hand,  and  motions  him 
to  be  seated  on  the  chest  near  the  fire-place.  Bob  takes 
his  seat,  keeping  his  eye  on  mas'r  the  while.  "  Neber  mind, 
mas'r,"  he  says,  "  Big  Mas'r  above  be  better  dan  Buckra. 
Da'h  is  somefin'  what  Buckra  no  sell  from  ye,  dat's  a  good 
heart.  If  old  mas'r  on'y  keeps  up  he  spirit,  de  Lor'  ']!  carry 
un  throu'  'e  triblation,"  he  continues ;  and,  after  watch 
ing  his  master  a  few  minutes,  returns  to  Franconia,  and 
resumes  his  jargon. 

Franconia  is  the  same  fair  creature  Bob  watched  over 
when  she  visited  the  plantation :  her  countenance  wears 
the  same  air  of  freshness  and  frankness ;  her  words  are  ot 
the  same  gentleness ;  she  seems  as  solicitous  of  his  comfort 
as  before.  And  yet  a  shadow  of  sadness  shrouds  that 
vivacity  which  had  made  her  the  welcome  guest  of  the 


358  A  FBIBND  IS  WOMAN. 

old  slaves.  He  cannot  resist  those  expressions  which  are 
ever  ready  to  lisp  forth  from  the  negro  when  his  feelings 
are  excited.  "  Lor,  missus,  how  -old  Bob's  heart  feels  ! 
Hah,  ah  !  yah,  yah !  Looks  so  good,  and  reminds  old  Bob 
how  e'  look  down  on  dah  Astley,  yander.  But,  dah  somefin 
in  dat  ar  face  what  make  old  nigger  like  I  know  missus 
don't  feel  just  right,"  he  exclaims. 

The  kind  woman  reads  his  thoughts  in  the  glowing 
simplicity  of  his  wrinkled  face.  "  It  has  been  said  that  a 
dog  was  our  last  friend,  Bob :  I  now  think  a  slave  should 
have  been  added.  Don't  you  think  so,  uncle  ?"  she 
enquires,  looking  at  Marston,  and,  again  taking  the  old 
slave  by  the  hand,  awaits  the  reply. 

"  We  rarely  appreciate  their  friendship  until  it  be  too 
late  to  reward  it,"  he  replies,  with,  an  attempt  to  smile. 

"  True,  true  !  but  the  world  is  full  of  ingratitude, — very- 
amiable  ingratitude.  Never  mind,  Daddy ;  you  must  now 
tell  me  all  about  your  affairs,  and  what  has  happened 
since  the  night  you  surprised  me  at  our  house ;  and  you 
must  tell  me  how  you  escaped  M'Carstrow  on  the  morning 
of  the  disturbance,"  she  enjoins.  And  while  Bob  relates 
his  story  Eranconia  prepares  his  supper.  Some  cold  ham, 
bread,  and  coffee,  are  soon  spread  out  before  him.  He  will 
remove  them  to  the  chest,  near  the  fire-place.  "  AVhy,  Missus 
Frankone,"  Le  says,  "ye  sees  how  I'se  so  old  now  dat 
nobody  tink  I'se  werf  ownin ;  and  so  nobody  axes  old  Bob 
whose  nigger  he  is.  An't  prime  nigger,  now ;  but  dei)  a' 
good  fo'  work  some,  and  get  cash,  so  t'  help  old  mas'r 
yander  (Bob  points  to  old  master).  Likes  t'  make  old  master 
feel  not  so  bad." 

"Yes,"  rejoins  Marston,  "Bob's  good  to  me.  He  makes 
his  sleeping  apartments,  when  he  comes,  at  the  foot  of  my 
bed,  and  shares  his  earnings  with  me  every  Saturday  night. 
He's  like  an  old  clock  that  can  keep  time  as  well  as  a  new 
one,  only  wind  it  up  with  care." 

"  Dat  I  is  !"  says  Daddy,  with  an  exulting  nod  of  the 
head,  as  he,  to  his  own  surprise,  lets  fall  his  cup.  It  was 
only  the  negro's  forgetfulness  in  the  moment  of  excitement. 
Giving  a  wistful  look  at  Franconia,  he  commences  picking 
up  the  pieces,  and  drawing  his  week's  earnings  from  a  side 
pocket  of  his  jacket. 

"  Eat  your  supper,  Daddy ;  never  mind  your  money  now.' 


A  IfEIEND  IS  WOMAN.  859 

Bays  Franconia,  laughing  heartily:  at  which  Bob  regains 
confidence  and  resumes  his  supper,  keeping  a  watchful 
eye  upon  iis  old  master  the  while.  Every  now  and  then  he 
will  pauseT  cant  his  ear,  and  shake  his  head,  as  if  drinking 
in  the  tenour  of  the  conversation  between  Franconia  and  her 
uncle.  Having  concluded,  he  pulls  out  his  money  and 
spreads  it  upon  the  chest.  "  Old  Bob  work  hard  fo'  dat !" 
he  says,  with  emphasis,  spreading  a  five-dollar  bill  and  two 
dollars  and  fifty  cents  in  silver  into  divisions.  "  Dah  !"  he 
ejaculates,  "dat  old  mas'r  share,  and  dis  is  dis  child's." 
The  old  man  looks  proudly  upon  the  coin,  and  feels  he  is 
not  so  worthless,  after  all.  "  Now !  who  say  old  Bob  aint 
werf  nofin?"  he  concludes,  getting  up,  putting  his  share 
into  his  pocket,  and  then,  as  if  unobserved,  slipping  the 
balance  into  Marston's.  This  done,  he  goes  to  the  window, 
afi'ectsjto  be  looking  out,  and  then  resuming  his  seat  upon 
the  chest,  commences  humming  a  familiar  plantation  tune, 
as  if  his  pious  feelings  had  been  superseded  by  the  recol 
lection  of  past  scenes. 

"  "What,  Daddy, — singing  songs  ?"  interrupts  Franconia, 
looking  at  him  enquiringly.  He  stops  as  suddenly  as  he 
commenced,  exchanges  an  expressive  look,  and  fain  would 
question  her  sincerity. 

"  Didn't  mean  'um,  missus,"  he  returns,  after  a  moment's 
hesitation,  "  didn't  mean  'um.  Was  thinkin  'bout  somefin 
back'ards  ;  down  old  plantation  times." 

"  You  had  better  forget  them  times,  Bob." 

"  Buckra  won't  sell  dis  old  nigger, — will  he,  Miss  Fran- 
kone  ?"  he  enquires,  resuming  his  wonted  simplicity. 

"  Sell  you,  Bob  ?  You're  a  funny  old  man.  Don't  think 
your  old  half- worn-out  bones  are  going  to  save  you.  Money's 
the  word :  they'll  sell  anything  that  will  produce  it, — dried 
up  of  age  are  no  exceptions.  Keep  out  of  Elder  Pember- 
ton Praiseworthy 's  way:  whenever  you  hear  him  singing,  'I 
know  that  my  Redeemer  liveth,  and  that  .he  shall  come,' 
as  he  always  does, — run !  He  lives  on  the  sale  of  infirmity, 
and  your  old  age  would  be  a  capital  thing  for  the  exercise 
of  his  genius.  He  will  put  you  through  a  course  of  regene 
ration,  take  the  wrinkles  smooth  out  of  your  face,  dye 
those  old  grey  whiskers,  and  get  a  profit  for  his  magic 
power  of  transposing  the  age  of  negro  property,"  she 


360  A  FBIEITD  18  WOMAN. 

replied,  gravely,  while  Bob  stares  at  her  as  if  doubting  his 
own  security. 

"  Why,  missus !"  he  interposes,  his  face  glowing  with 
astonishment;  "Buekra  don't  be  so  smart  daF  he  make 
old  nigger  young,  be  he  ?" 

"  Traders  can  do  anything  with  niggers  that  have  got 
money  in  them,  as  they  say.  Our  distinguished  people 
are  sensitive  of  the  crime,  but  excuse  themselves  with 
apologies  they  cannot  make  cover  the  shame." 

"  Franke !"  interrupts  Marston,  "  spare  the  negro's 
feelings, — it  may  have  a  bad  effect."  He  touches  her  on  the 
arm,  and  knits  his  brows  in  caution. 

"How  strange,  to  think  that  bad  influence  could  come 
of  such  an  inoffensive  old  man !  Truth,  I  know  and  feel,  is 
powerfully  painful  when  brought  home  to  the  doors  of  our 
best  people, — it  cuts  deep  when  told  in  broad  letters  ;  but 
they  make  the  matter  worse  by  attempting  to  enshrine  the 
stains  with  their  chivalry.  We  are  a  wondrous  people, 
uncle,  and  the  world  is  just  finding  it  out,  to  our  shame. 
We  may  find  it  out  ourselves,  by  and  by ;  perhaps  pay  the 
penalty  with  sorrow.  We  look  upon  negroes  as  if  they 
were  dropped  down  from  some  unaccountable  origin, — 
intended  to  raise  the  world's  cotton,  rice,  and  sugar,  but 
never  to  get  above  the  menial  sphere  we  have  conditioned 
for  them.  Uncle,  there  is  a  mistake  somewhere, — a  mistake 
sadly  at  variance  with  our  democratic  professions.  Demo 
cracy  needs  to  reclaim  its  all-claiming  principles  of  right 
and  justice  for  the  down-trodden.  And  yet,  while  the  negro 
generously  submits  to  serve  us,  we  look  upon  him  as  an 
auspicious  innovator,  who  never  could  have  been  born  to 
enjoy  manhood,  and  was  subjected  to  bear  a  black  face 
because  God  had  marked  him  for  servitude.  Did  God 
found  an  aristocracy  of  colour,  or  make  men  to  be  governed 
by  their  distinctive  qualifications  of  colour  relationship  ?" 
says  Franconia,  her  face  resuming  a  flush  of  agitation. 
Touching  Marston  on  the  arm  with  the  fore-finger  of  her 
right  hand,  and  giving  a  glance  at  Bob,  who  listens  atten 
tively  to  the  theme  of  conversation,  she  continues :  "  Say 
no  more  of  bad  influence  coming  of  slaves,  when  the 
corruptest  examples  are  set  by  those  who  hold  them  as 
such, — who  crush  their  hopes,  blot  out  their  mental 


A  FEIEND  IS  WOMA1T. 


361 


faculties,  and  turn  their  bodies  into  licentious  merchandise 
that  they  may  profit  by  its  degradation !  Show  me  the 
humblest  slave  on  your  plantation,  and,  in  comparison 
with  the  slave-dealer,  I  will  prove  him  a  nobleman  of  God's 
kind, — of  God's  image  :  his  simple  nature  will  be  his  clean 
passport  into  heaven.  The  Father  of  Mercy  will  receive 
him  there ;  he  will  forgive  the  crimes  enforced  upon  him  by 
man ;  and  that  dark  body  on  earth  will  be  recompensed  in  a 
Avorld  of  light, — it  will  shine  with  the  brighter  spirits  of 
that  realm  of  justice  and  love.  Earth  may  bring  the  slave- 
trader  bounties  ;  but  heaven  will  reject  the  foul  offering." 
The  good  woman  unfolds  the  tender  emotions  of  her  heart, 
as  only  woman  can. 

Bob  listens,  as  if  taking  a  deep  interest  in  the  force  and 
earnestness  of  young  missus's  language.  He  is  swayed  by 
her  pathos,  and  at  length  interposes  his  word. 

"  Nigger  ain't  so  good  as  white  man  (he  shakes  his  head, 
philosophically).  "White  man  sharp  ;  puzzle  nigger  to  find 
out  what  'e  don,  know  ven  'e  mind  t'."  Thus  saying,  he 
takes  a  small  hymn-book  from  his  pocket,  and,  Franconia 
setting  the  light  beside  him,  commences  reading  to  himself 
by  its  dim  glare. 

"  Well !  now,  uncle,  it's  getting  late,  and  I've  a  good  way 
to  go,  and  the  night's  stormy ;  so  I  must  prepare  for  home." 
Franconia  gets  up,  and  evinces  signs  of  withdrawing.  She 
walks  across  the  little  chamber  three  or  four  times,  looks 
out  of  the  window,  strains  her  sight  into  the  gloomy 
prospect,  and  then,  as  if  reluctant  to  leave  her  uncle, 
again  takes  a  seat  by  his  side.  Gently  laying  her  left  hand 
upon  his  shoulder,  she  makes  an  effort  at  pleasantry,  tells 
him  to  keep  up  his  resolution — to  be  of  good  cheer. 

"  Eemember,  uncle,"  she  says,  calmly,  "  they  tell  us  it  is 
no  disgrace  to  be  poor, — no  shame  to  work  to  live  ;  and  yet 
poor  people  are  treated  as  criminals.  For  my  own  part,  I 
would  rather  be  poor  and  happy  than  rich  with  a  base 
husband ;  I  have  lived  in  New  England,  know  how  to 
appreciate  its  domestic  happiness.  It  was  there  Puritanism 
founded  true  American  liberty. — Puritanism  yet  lives,  and 
may  be  driven  to  action ;  but  we  must  resign  ourselves  to 
the  will  of  an  all-wise  Providence."  Thus  concluding,  she 
makes  another  attempt  to  withdraw. 

"  You  must  not  leave  me  yet !"  says  Marston,  grasping 


362  A  FRIEND  IS  WOMAN. 

her  hand  firmly  in  his.  "  ITranke,  I  cannot  part  with  you 
until  I  have  disclosed  what  I  have  been  summoning  resolu 
tion  to  suppress.  I  know  your  attachment,  Franconia;  you 
have  been  more  than  dear  to  me.  You  have  known  my 
feelings, — what  they  have  already  had  to  undergo."  He 
pauses. 

"  Speak  it,  uncle,  speak  it !  Keep  nothing  from  me,  nor 
make  secrets  in  fear  of  my  feelings.  Speak  out, —  I  may  re 
lieve  you  !"  she  interrupts,  nervously  :  and  again  encircling 
her  arm  round  his  neck,  waits  his  reply ,  in  breathless  sus- 


He  falters  for  a  moment,  and  then  endeavours  to  regain 
his  usual  coolness.  "To-morrow,  Franconia,"  he  half 
mutters  out,  "  to-morrow,  you  may  find  me  not  so  well 
situated,  (here  tears  are  seen  trickling  down  his  cheeks)  and 
in  a  place  where  it  will  not  become  your  delicate  nature 
to  visit  me." 

"Nay,  uncle!"  she  stops  him  there;  "I  will  visit  you 
wherever  you  may  be — in  a  castle  or  a  prison." 

The  word  prison  has  touched  the  tender  chord  upon 
which  all  his  troubles  are  strung.  He  sobs  audibly  ;  but 
they  are  only  sobs  of  regret,  for  which  there  is  no  recom 
pense  in  this  late  hour.  "  And  would  you  follow  me  to  a 
prison,  Franconia  ?"  he  enquires,  throwing  his  arms  about 
her  neck,  kissing  her  pure  cheek  with  the  fondness  of  a 
father. 

"  Tea,  and  share  your  sorrows  within  its  cold  walls.  Do 
not  yield  to  melancholy,  uncle, — you  have  friends  left :  if 
not,  heaven  will  prepare  a  place  of  rest  for  you  ;  heaven 
shields  the  unfortunate  at  last,"  rejoins  the  good  woman,  the 
pearly  tears  brightening  in  mutual  sympathy. 

"  To-morrow,  my  child,  you  will  find  me  the  unhappy 
tenant  of  those  walls  where  man's  discomfiture  is  complete." 
"  Nay,  uncle,  nay !  you  are  only  allowing  your  melan 
choly  forebodings  to  get  the  better  of  you.  Such  men  as 
Graspum —  .men  who  have  stripped  families  of  their  all  — 
might  take  away  your  property,  and  leave  you  as  they  have 
left  my  poor  parents ;  but  no  one  would  be  so  heartless  as  to 
drive  you  to  the  extreme  of  imprisonment.  It  is  a  foolish 
result  at  best."  Franconia' s  voice  falters  ;  she  looks  more 
and  more  intently  in  her  uncle's  face,  struggles  to  suppress 
her  rising  emotions.  She  knows  his  frankness,  she  feels  the 


A  FRIEND  IS  WOMAN.  363 

pain  of  his  position  ;  but,  though  the  dreadful  extreme  seems 
scarcely  possible,  there  is  that  in  his  face  conveying  strong 
evidence  of  the  truth  of  his  remark. 

"  Do  not  weep,  Franconia ;  spare  your  tears  for  a  more 
worthy  object  :  such  trials  have  been  borne  by  better  men 
than  I.  I  am  but  the  merchandise  of  rny  creditors. 
There  is,  however,  one  thing  which  haunts  me  to  grief; 
could  I  have  saved  my  children,  the  pain  of  my  position 
had  been  slight  indeed." 

"  Speak  not  of  them,  imcle,"  Franconia  interrupts,  "  you 
cannot  feel  the  bitterness  of  their  lot  more  than  myself.  I 
have  saved  a  mother,  but  have  failed  to  execute  my  plan  of 
saving  them ;  and  my  heart  throbs  with  pain  when  I  think 
that  now  it  is  beyond  my  power.  Let  me  not  attempt  to 
again  excite  in  your  bosom  feelings  which  must  ever  be 
harassing,  for  the  evil  only  can  work  its  destruction.  To 
clip  the  poisoning  branches  and  not  uproot  the  succouring 
trunk,  is  like  casting  pearls  into  the  waste  of  time.  My 
heart  will  ever  be  with  the  destinies  of  those  children,  my 
feelings  bound  in  unison  with  theirs  ;  our  hopes  are  the  same, 
and  if  fortune  should  smile  on  me  in  times  to  come  I  will 
keep  my  word — I  will  snatch  them  from  the  devouring  ele 
ment  of  slavery." 

"  Stop,  my  child!"  speaks  Marston,  earnestly:  "  Remember 
you  can  do  little  against  the  strong  arm  of  the  law,  and  still 
stronger  arm  of  public  opinion.  Lay  aside  your  hopes  of 
rescuing  those  children,  Franconia,  and  remember  that  while 
I  am  in  prison  I  am  the  property  of  my  creditors,  subject  to 
their  falsely  conceived  notions  of  my  affairs,"  he  continues. 
"  I  cannot  now  make  amends  to  the  law  of  nature," 
he  adds,  burying  his  face  in  his  hand,  weeping  a  child's 
tears. 

Franconia  looks  solicitously  upon  her  uncle,  as  he  sor 
rows.  She  would  dry  her  tears  to  save  his  throbbing  heart. 
Her  noble  generosity  and  disinterestedness  have  carried  her 
through  many  trials  since  her  marriage,  but  it  fails  to 
nerve  her  longer.  Her's  is  a  single-hearted  sincerity,  dis 
pensing  its  goodness  for  the  benefit  of  the  needy ;  she 
suppresses  her  own  troubles  that  she  may  administer  con 
solation  to  others.  "The  affection  that  refuses  to  follow 
misfortune  to  its  lowest  step  is  weak  indeed.  If  you  go 
24 


36-4  A  FRIEND  IS  WOMAN. 

to  prison,  Franconia  will  follow  you  there,"  she  says,  with 
touching  pathos,  her  musical  voice  adding  strength  to  the 
resolution.  Blended  with  that  soft  angelic  expression  her 
eyes  give  forth,  her  calm  dignity  and  inspiring  nobleness 
show  how  firm  is  that  principle  of  her  nature  never  to 
abandon  her  old  friend. 

The  old  negro,  who  had  seemed  absorbed  in  his  sym 
pathetic  reflections,  gazes  steadfastly  at  his  old  master,  until 
his  emotions  spring  forth  in  kindest  solicitude.  Resistance 
is  beyond  his  power.  "  Neber  mind,  old  mas' r,"  (he  speaks 
in  a  devoted  tone)  "  dar's  better  days  comin,  bof  fo'  old 
Bob  and  mas'r.  Tink  'urn  sees  de  day  when  de  old  planta 
tion  jus  so  't  was  wid  mas'r  and  da'  old  folks."  Concluding 
in  a  subdued  voice,  he  approaches  Franconia,  and  seats 
himself,  book  in  hand,  on  the  floor  at  her  feet.  Moved  by 
his  earnestness,  she  lays  her  hand  playfully  upon  his 
head,  saying  :  "  Here  is  our  truest  friend,  uncle  !" 

"  My  own  heart  lubs  Miss  Frankoue  more  den  eber,"  he 
whispers  in  return.  How  pure,  ho\v  holy,  is  the  simple 
recompense !  It  is  nature's  only  offering,  all  the  slave  can 
give ;  and  he  gives  it  in  the  bounty  of  his  soul. 

Marston's  grief  having  subside'd,  he  attempts  to  soothe 
Franconia's  feelings,  by  affecting  an  air  of  indifference. 
"  What  need  I  care,  after  all?  my  resolution  should  be  above 
it,"  he  says,  thrusting  his  right  hand  into  his  breast  pocket, 
and  drawing  out  a  folded  paper,  which  he  throws  upon 
the  little  table,  and  says,  "  There,  Franconia,  my  child ! 
that  contains  the  climax  of  my  unlamented  misfortunes ; 
read  it :  it  will  show  you  where  my  next  abode  will  be- — I 
may  be  at  peace  there ;  and  there  is  consolation  at  being  at 
peace,  even  in  a  cell."  He  passes  the  paper  into  her 
hand. 

With  an  expression  of  surprise  she  opens  it,  and  glances 
over  its  contents  ;  then  reads  it  word  by  word.  "  Do  they 
expect  to  get  something  from  nothing?"  she  says,  sar 
castically.  "  It  is  one  of  those  soothsayers  so  valuable  to 
men  whose  feelings  are  only  with  money — to  men  who 
forget  they  cannot  carry  money  to  the  graves ;  and  that 
no  tribute  is  demanded  on  either  road  leading  to  the  kst 
abode  of  man." 

"  Stop  there,  my  child !  stop  !"  interrupts  Marston.     "  I 


A  FRIEND  IS  WOMAN.  365 

have  given  them  all,  'tis  true;  but  suspicion  is  my  perse 
cutor — suspicion,  and  trying  to  be  a  father  to  my  own 
children !" 

"  It  is,  indeed,  a  misfortune  to  be  a  father  under  such, 
circumstances,  in  such  an  atmosphere !"  the  good  woman 
exclaims,  clasping  her  hands  and  looking  upward,  as  if  im 
ploring  the  forgiveness  of  Heaven.  Tremblingly  she  held 
the  paper  in  her  hand,  until  it  fell  upon  the  floor,  as  she, 
overcome,  swooned  in  her  uncle's  arms. 

She  swooned !  yes,  she  swooned.  That  friend  upon 
whom  her  affections  had  been  concentrated  was  a  prisoner. 
The  paper  was  a  bail  writ,  demanding  the  body  of  the 
accused.  The  officer  serving  had  been  kind  enough  to  allow 
Marston  his  parole  of  honour  until  the  next  morning.  He 
granted  this  in  accordance  with  Marston's  request,  that  by 
the  lenity  he  might  see  Daddy  Bob  and  TTranconia  once 
more. 

Lifting  Franconia  in  his  arms,  her  hair  falling  loosely 
down,  Marston  lays  her  gently  on  the  cot,  and  commences 
bathing  her  temples.  He  has  nothing  but  water  to  bathe 
them  with, — nothing  but  poverty's  liquid.  The  old  negro, 
frightened  at  the  sudden  change  that  has  come  over  his 
young  missus,  falls  to  rubbing  and  kissing  her  hands, — he  has 
no  other  aid  to  lend.  Marston  has  drawn  his  chair  beside 
her,  sits  down  upon  it,  unbuttons  her  stomacher,  and  con 
tinues  bathing  and  chafing  her  temples.  How  gently 
heaves  that  bosom  so  full  of  fondness,  how  marble- 
like  those  features,  how  pallid  but  touchingly  beautiful 
that  face !  Love,  affection,"  and  tenderness,  there  repose 
so  calmly  !  All  that  once  gave  out  so  much  hope,  so  much 
joy,  now  withers  before  the  blighting  sting  of  misfortune. 
"  Poor  child,  how  fondly  she  loves  me  !  "  says  Marston,  placing 
his  right  arm  under  her  head,  and  raising  it  gently.  The  motion 
quickens  her  senses — she  speaks ;  he  kisses  her  pallid  cheek — 
kisses  and  kisses  it.  "  Is  it  you,  uncle  1 "  she  whispers.  She 
has  opened  her  eyes,  stares  at  Marston,  then  wildly  along  the 
ceiling.  "  Yes,  I'm"  in  uncle's  arms  ;  how  good  !  "  she  continues, 
as  if  fatigued.  Reclining  back  on  the  pillow,  she  again  rests 
her  head  upon  his  arm.  "I  am  at  the  mansion — how  pleas 
ant  ;  let  me  rest,  uncle ;  let  me  rest.  Send  aunt  Rachel  to 
me."  She  raises  her  right  hand  and  lays  her  arms  about  Mar 


366  A  FRIEND  IS  WOMAN. 

ston's  neck,  as  anxiously  he  leans  over  her.  How  dear  are  the 
associations  of  that  old  mansion !  how  sweet  the  thought  of 
home  !  how  uppermost  in  her  wandering  mind  the  remembrance 
of  those  happy  days ! 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

MARSTON  IN  PRISON. 

WHILE  Franconia  revives,  let  us  beg  the  reader's  indulgence 
for  not  recounting  the  details  thereof.  The  night  continues 
dark  aud  stormy,  but  she  must  return  to  her  own  home, — she 
must  soothe  the  excited  feelings  of  a  dissolute  and  disregard 
ing  husband,  who,  no  doubt,  is  enjoying  his  night  orgies,  while 
she  is  administering  consolation  to  the  downcast.  "  Ah  ! 
uncle,"  she  says,  about  to  take  leave  of  him  for  the  night, 
"  how  with  spirit  the  force  of  hope  fortifies  us  ;  and  yet  how 
seldom  are  our  expectations  realised  through  what  we  look 
forward  to  !  Tou  now  see  the  value  of  virtue ;  but  when 
seen  through  necessity,  how  vain  the  repentance.  Never 
theless,  let  us  profit  by  the  lesson  before  us  ;  let  us  hope  the 
issue  may  yet  be  favourable !"  Bob  will  see  his  young 
missus  safe  home — he  will  be  her  guide  and  protector.  So, 
preparing  his  cap,  he  buttons  his  jacket,  laughs  and  grins  with 
joy,  goes  to  the  door,  then  to  the  fire-place,  and  to  the  door 
again,  where,  keeping  his  left  hand  on  the  latch,  and  his  right 
holding  the  casement,  he  bows  and  scrapes,  for  "  Missus 
comin."  Franconia  arranges  her  dress  as  best  she  can,  ad 
justs  her  bonnet,  embraces  Marston,  imprints  a  fond  kiss  on 
his  cheek,  reluctantly  relinquishes  his  hand,  whispers  a  last 
word  of  consolation,  and  bids  him  good  night, — a  gentle  good 
night — in  sorrow. 

She  has  gone,  and  the  old  slave  is  her  guide,  her  human 
watch-dog.  Slowly  Marston  paces  the  silent  chamber  alone, 
giving  vent  to  his  pent-up  emotions.  "What  may  to-morrow 
bring  forth  ?  runs  through  his  wearied  mind.  It  is  but  the 
sudden  downfall  of  life,  so  inseparable  from  the  planter  who 
rests  his  ho'pes  on  the  abundance  of  his  human  property. 
But  the  slave  returns,  and  relieves  him  of  his  musings.  He 
has  seen  his  young  missus  safe  to  her  door  ;  he  has  received 
her  kind  word,  and  her  good,  good  night !  Entering  the 
chamber  with  a  smile,  he  sets  about  clearing  away  the  little 
things,  and,  when  done,  draws  his  seat  close  to  Marston,  at 


368  MARSTON  IN  PRISON. 

the  fire-place.  As  if  quite  at  home  beside  his  old  master, 
he  eyes  Marston  intently  for  some  time, — seems  studying  his 
thoughts  and  fears.  At  length  the  old  slave  commences  dis 
closing  his  feelings.  His  well-worn  bones  are  not  worth  a 
large  sum  ;  nor  are  the  merits  of  his  worthy  age  saleable  ; — 
no !  there  is  nothing  left  but  his  feelings,  those  genuine 
virtues  so  happily  illustrated.  Daddy  Bob  will  stand  by  mas'r, 
as  he  expresses  it,  in  power  or  in  prison.  Kindness  has 
excited  all  that  vanity  in  Bob  so  peculiar  to  the  iiegro,  and 
by  which  he  prides  himself  in  the  prime  value  of  his  person. 
There  he  sits — Marston's  faithful  friend,  contemplating  his 
silence  with  a  steady  gaze,  and  then,  giving  his  jet-black  face 
a  double  degree  of  seriousness,  shrugs  his  shoulders,  signifi 
cantly  nods  his  head,  and  intimates  that  it  will  soon  be  time 
to  retire,  by  commencing  to  unboot  master. 

"  You  seem  in  a  hurry  to  get  rid  of  me,  Daddy  !  Want  to 
get  your  own  cranium  into  a  pine-knot  sleep,  eh?"  says 
Marston,  with  an  encouraging  smile,  pulling  the  old  slave's 
whiskers  in  a  playful  manner. 

"  No,  Boss ;  'tant  dat,"  returns  Bob,  keeping  on  tugging 
at  Marston's  boots  until  he  has  got  them  from  his  feet,  and 
safely  stowed  away  in  a  corner.  A  gentle  hint  that  he  is  all 
ready  to  relieve  Marston  of  his  upper  garments  brings  him 
to  his  feet,  when  Bob  commences  upon  him  in  right  good 
earnest,  and  soon  has  him  stowed  away  between  the  sheets. 
"  Bob  neber  likes  to  hurry  old  Boss,  but  den  'e  kno'  what's 
on  old  Mas'r's  feelins,  an  'e  kno'  dat  sleep  make  'um  forget 
'urn  !"  rejoins  Bob,  in  a  half  whisper  that  caught  Marston's 
ear,  as  he  patted  and  fussed  about  his  pillow,  in  order  to 
make  him  as  comfortable  as  circumstances  would  admit. 
After  this  he  extinguishes  the  light,  and,  accustomed  to  a  slave's 
bed,  lumbers  himself  down  on  the  floor  beside  his  master's  cot. 
Thus,  watchfully,  he  spends  the  night. 

When  morning  dawned,  Bob  was  in  the  full  enjoyment 
of  what  the  negro  so  pertinently  calls  a  long  and  strong 
sleep.  He  cannot  resist  its  soothing  powers,  nor  will  master 
disturb  him  in  its  enjoyment.  Before  breakfast-tirne  arrives, 
however,  he  arouses  with  a  loud  guffiiw,  looks  round  the  room 
vacantly,  as  if  he  were  doubting  the  presence  of  things  about 
him.  Rising  to  his  knees,  he  rubs  his  eyes  languidly,  yawns, 
and  stretches  his  arms,  scratches  his  head,  and  suddenly  gets 
a  glimpse  of  old  master,  who  is  already  dressed,  and  sits  by 


MARSTON  IN  PRISON.  dtw 

the  window,  his  attention  intently  set  upon  some  object  with 
out.  The  old  slave  recognises  the  same  chamber  from  which 
he  guided  Franconia  on  the  night  before,  and,  after  saluting 
mas'r,  sets  about  arranging  the  domestic  affairs  of  the  apart 
ment,  and  preparing  the  breakfast  table,  the  breakfast  being 
cooked  at  Aunt  Beckie's  cabin,  in  the  yard.  Aunt  Beckie 
had  the  distinguished  satisfaction  of  knowing  Marston  in 
his  better  days,  and  now  esteems  it  an  honour  to  serve  him, 
even  in  his  poverty.  Always  happy  to  inform  her  friends 
that  she  was  brought  up  a  first-rate  pastry-cook,  she  now 
adds,  with  great  satisfaction,  that  she  pays  her  owner,  the 
very  Severend  Mr.  Thomas  Tippletony,  the  ever-pious  rector 
of  St.  Michael's,  no  end  of  money  for  her  time,  and  makes  a 
good  profit  at  her  business  beside.  Notwithstanding  ?he 
has  a  large  family  of  bright  children  to  maintain  in  a  respec 
table  way,  she  hopes  for  a  continuance  of  their  patronage, 
and  will  give  the  best  terms  her  limited  means  admit.  She 
knows  how  very  necessary  it  is  for  a  southern  gentleman 
who  would  be  anybody  to  keep  up  appearances,  and,  with 
little  means,  to  make  a  great  display  :  hence  she  is  very  easy 
in  matters  of  payment.  In  Marston's  case,  she  is  extremely 
proud  to  render  him  service, — to  "  do  for  him"  as  far  as 
she  can,  and  wait  a  change  for  the  better  concerning  any 
balance  outstanding. 

Bob  fetches  the  breakfast  of  coffee,  fritters,  homony,  and 
bacon, — a  very  good  breakfast  it  is,  considering  the  circum 
stances, — and  spreads  the  little  rustic  board  with  an  air  of 
comfort  and  neatness  complimentary  to  the  old  slave's  taste. 
And,  withal,  the  old  man  cannot  forego  the  inherent  vanity 
of  his  nature,  for  he  is,  unconsciously,  performing  all  the 
ceremonies  of  attendance  he  has  seen  Dandy  and  his  satel 
lites  go  through  at  the  plantation  mansion.  He  fusses  and 
grins,  and  praises  and  laughs,  as  he  sets  the  dishes  down 
one  by  one,  keeping  a  watchful  eye  on  mas'r,  as  if  to  detect 
an  approval  in  his  countenance.  "  Reckon  'ow  dis  old  nig 
ger  can  fix  old  Boss  up  aristocratic  breakfast  like  Dandy. 
Now,  Boss — da'h  he  is  !"  he  says,  whisking  round  the  table, 
setting  the  cups  just  so,  and  spreading  himself  with  exulta 
tion.  "  Want  to  see  master  smile — laugh  some — like  'e  used 
down  on  da'h  old  plantation ! "  he  ejaculates,  emphatically, 
placing  a  chair  at  Marston's  plate.  This  done,  he  accompa 
nies  his  best  bow  with  a  scrape  of  his  right  foot,  spreads  his 


370  MARSTON  IN  PRISON. 

hands, — the  gesture  being  the  signal  of  readiness.  Marstou 
takes  his  chair,  as  Bob  affects  the  compound  dignity  of  the 
very  best  trained  nigger,  doing  the  distinguished  in  waiting. 

"  A  little  less  ceremony,  my  old  faithful !  the  small  follies 
of  etiquette  ill  become  such  a  place  as  this.  We  must  suc 
cumb  to  circumstances :  come,  sit  down,  Bob ;  draw  your 
bench  to  the  chest,  and  there  eat  your  share,  while  I  wait  on 
myself,"  says  Marstou,  touching  Bob  on  the  arm.  The  words 
were  no  sooner  uttered,  than  Bob's  countenance  changed 
from  the  playful  to  the  serious ;  he  could  see  nothing 
but  dignity  in  master,  no  matter  in  what  sphere  he  might  be 
placed.  His  simple  nature  recoils  at  the  idea  of  dispensing 
with  the  attention  due  from  slave  to  master.  Master's  fallen 
fortunes,  and  the  cheerless  character  of  the  chamber,  are 
nothing  to  Daddy — master  must  keep  up  his  dignity. 

You  need'nt  look  so  serious,  Daddy  ;  it  only  gives  an 
extra  shade  to  your  face,  already  black  enough  for  any  im 
mediate  purpose !"  says  Marston,  turning  round  and  smiling 
at  the  old  slave's  discomfiture.  To  make  amends,  master 
takes  a  plate  from  the  table,  and  gives  Bob  a  share  of  his 
homony  and  bacon.  This  is  very  pleasing  to  the  old  slave, 
who  regains  his  wonted  earnestness,  takes  the  plate  politely 
from  his  master's  hand,  retires  with  it  to  the  chest,  and  keeps 
up  a  regular  fire  of  chit-chat  while  dispensing  its  contents. 
In  this  humble  apartment,  master  and  slave— the  former  once 
opulent,  and  the  latter  still  warm  with  attachment  for  his 
friend— are  happily  companioned.  They  finish  their  break 
fast, — a  long  pause  intervenes.  "  I  would  I  were  beyond  the 
bounds  of  this  our  south,"  says  Marston,  breaking  the  silence, 
as  he  draws  his  chair  and  seats  himself  by  the  window,  where 
he  can  look  out  upon  the  dingy  little  houses  in  the  lane. 

The  unhappy  man  feels  the  burden  of  a  misspent  life  ;  he 
cannot  recall  the  past,  nor  make  amends  for  its  errors.  But, 
withal,  it  is  some  relief  that  he  can  disclose  his  feelings  to 
the  old  man,  his  slave. 

"  Mas'r,"  interrupts  the  old  slave,  looking  complacently 
in  his  face,  "  Bob  '11  foller  ye,  and  be  de  same  old  friend. 
I  will  walk  behind  Miss  Frankone."  His  simple  nature 
seems  warming  into  fervency. 

"  Ah !  old  man,"  returns  Marston,  "  if  there  be  a  wish 
(you  may  go  before  me,  though)  I  have  on  earth,  it  is  that 
when  I  die  our  graves  may  be  side  by  side,  with  an  epitaph 


MARSTON  IN  PRISON.  371 

to  denote  master,  friend,  and  faithful  servant  lie  here." 
He  takes  the  old  man  by  the  hand  again,  as  the  tears  drop 
from  his  cheeks.  "  A  prison  is  but  a  grave  to  the  man  of 
honourable  feelings,"  he  concludes.  Thus  disclosing  his 
feelings,  a  rap  at  the  door  announces  a  messenger.  It  is 
nine  o'clock,  and  immediately  the  sheriff,  a  gentlemanly- 
looking  man,  wearing  the  insignia  of  office  on  his  hat,  walks 
in,  and  politely  intimates  that,  painful  as  may  be  the  duty, 
he  must  request  his  company  to  the  county  gaol,  thab  place 
so  accommodatingly  prepared  for  the  reception  of  unfortu 
nates.  . 

"  Sorry  for  your  misfortunes,  sir !  but  we'll  try  to  make 
you  as  comfortable  as  we  can  in  our  place."  The  servitor 
of  the  law  seems  to  have  some  sympathy  in  him.  "  I  have 
my  duty  to  perform,  you  know,  sir;  nevertheless,  I  have  my 
opinion  about  imprisoning  honest  men  for  debt :  it's  a  poor 
satisfaction,  sir.  I'm  only  an  officer,  you  see,  sir,  not  a 
law-maker — never  want  to  be,  sir.  I  very  much  dislike  to 
execute  these  kind  of  writs,"  says  the  man  of  the  law,  as, 
with  an  expression  of  commiseration,  he  glances  round  the 
room,  and  then  at  Daddy,  who  has  made  preparations  for  a 
sudden  dodge,  should  such  an  expedient  be  found  neces 
sary. 

"  Nay,  sheriff,  think  nothing  of  it ;  it's  but  a  thing  of 
common  life, — it  may  befall  us  all.  I  can  be  no  exception  to 
the  rule,  and  may  console  myself  with  the  knowledge  of 
companionship,"  replies  Marston,  as  coolly  as  if  he  were 
preparing  for  a  journey  of  pleasure. 

How  true  it  is,  that,  concealed  beneath  the  smallest 
things,  there  is  a  consolation  which  necessity  may  bring  out : 
how  Providence  has  suited  it  to  our  misfortunes ! 

"  There  are  a  few  things  here — a  very  few — I  should  like  to 
take  to  my  cell;  perhaps  I  can  send  for  them,"  he  remarks, 
looking  at  the  officer,  enquiringly. 

"  My  name  is  Martin — Captain  Martin,  they  call  me," — 
returns  that  functionary,  politely.  "  If  you  accept  my  word 
of  honour,  I  pledge  it  they  are  taken  care  of,  and  sent  to 
your  apartments." 

"You  mean  my  new  lodging-house,  or  my  new  grave,  I 
suppose,"  interrupted  Marston,  jocosely,  pointing  out  to 
Daddy  the  few  articles  of  bedding,  chairs,  and  a  window- 
curtain  he  desired  removed.  Daddy  has  been  pensively 


372  MARSTON  IN  PRISON. 

standing  by  the   fire-place   the  while,   contemplating  the 
scene. 

Marston  soon  announces  his  readiness  to  proceed ;  and, 
followed  by  the  old  slave,  the  officer  leads  the  way  down  the 
ricketty  old  stairs  to  the  street.  "I's  gwine  t'see  whar  dey 
takes  old  mas'r,  any  how,  reckon  I  is,"  says  the  old  slave, 
giving  his  head  a  significant  turn. 

"  Now,  sir,"  interrupts  the  officer,  as  they  arrive  at  the 
bottom  of  the  stairs,  "perhaps  you  have  a  delicacy  about 
going  through  the  street  with  a  sheriff ;  many  men  have  : 
therefore  I  shall  confide  in  your  honour,  sir,  and  shall  give 
you  the  privilege  of  proceeding  to  the  gaol  as  best  suits 
your  feelings.  I  never  allow  myself  to  follow  the  will  of 
creditors  ;  if  I  did,  my  duties  would  be  turned  into  a  system 
of  tyranny,  to  gratify  their  feelings  only.  ISow,  you  may 
take  a  carriage,  or  walk ;  only  meet  me  at  the  prison  gate." 

"  Thanks,  thanks !"  returns  Marston,  grateful  for  the 
officer's  kindness,  "my  crime  is  generosity;  you  need  not 
fear  me.  My  old  faithful  here  will  guide  me  along."  The 
officer  bows  assent,  and  with  a  respectful  wave  of  the  hand 
they  separate  to  pursue  different  routes. 

Marston  walks  slowly  along,  Bob  keeping  pace  close 
behind.  He  passes  many  of  his  old  acquaintances,  who,  in 
better  times,  would  have  recognised  him  with  a  cordial  em 
brace  ;  at  present  they  have  scarcely  a  nod  to  spare. 
Marston,  however,  is  firm  in  his  resolution,  looks  not  on 
one  side  nor  the  other,  and  reaches  the  prison-gate  in  good 
time.  The  officer  has  reached  it  in  advance,  and  waits  him 
there.  They  pause  a  few  moments  as  Marston  scans  the 
frowning  wall  that  encloses  the  gloomy-looking  old  prison. 
"I  am  ready  to  go  in,"  says  Marston;  and  just  as  they  are 
about  to  enter  the  arched  gate,  the  old  slave  touches  him  on 
the  arm,  and  says,  "  Mas'r,  dat's  no  place  fo'h  Bob.  Can't 
stand  seein'  on  ye  locked  up  wid  sich  folks  as  in  dah!"  So 
licitously  he  looks  in  his  master's  face.  The  man  of  trouble 
grasps  firmly  the  old  slave's  hand,  holds  it  in  silence  for 
some  minutes —  the  officer,  moved  by  the  touching  scene, 
turns  his  head  away  — as  tears  course  down  his  cheeks.  He 
has  no  words  to  speak  the  emotions  of  his  heart ;  he  shakes 
the  old  man's  hand  affectionately,  attempts  to  whisper  a 
word  in  his  ear,  but  is  too  deeply  affected. 

"  Good  by,  mas'r :  may  God  bless  'um !     Ther's  a  place 


MARSTON  IN  PRISON.  373 

fo'h  old  mas'r  yet.  I'll  com  t'  see  mas'r  every  night,"  says 
the  old  man,  his  words  flowing  from  the  bounty  of  his 
heart.  He  turns  away  reluctantly,  draws  his  hand  from 
Marston's,  heaves  a  sigh,  and  repairs  to  his  labour.  How 
precious  was  that  labour  of  love,  wherein  the  old  slave  toils 
that  he  may  share  the  proceeds  with  his  master ! 

As  Marston  and  the  sheriff  disappear  through  the  gate, 
and  are  about  to  ascend  the  large  stone  steps  leading  to  the 
portal  in  which  is  situated  the  inner  iron  gate  opening  into 
the  debtors'  ward,  the  sheriff  made  a  halt,   and,  placing  his 
arm   in   a  friendly   manner   through  Marston's,   enquires, 
"  Anything  I  can  do  for  you  ?     If  there  is,  just  name  it. 
Pardon  my  remark,  sir,  but  you  will,  in  all  probability,  take 
the  benefit  of  the  act ;  and,  as  no  person  seems  willing  to 
sign  your  bail,  I  may  do  something  to  relieve  your  wants, 
in  my  humble  way."     Marston  shakes  his  head  ;  the  kind 
ness  impedes  an  expression  of  his  feelings.     "  A  word  of 
advice  from  me,  however,  may  not  be  without  its  effect,  and 
I  will  give  it'  you  ;  it  is  this  : — Tour  earnestness  to  save 
those  two  children,  and  the  singular  manner  in  which  those 
slave  drudges  of  Graspum  produced  the  documentary  testi 
mony  showing  them  property,  has  created  wondrous  suspi 
cion  about  your  affairs.      I  will  here  say,   Grraspum's  no 
friend  of  ydurs ;  in  fact,  he's  a  friend  to  nobody  but  him 
self;  and  even  now,   when  questioned  on  the  manner  of 
possessing  all  your  real  estate,  he  gives  out  insinuations, 
which,  instead  of  exonerating  you,  create  a  still  worse  im 
pression   against   you.      His   conversation  on   the   matter 
leaves  the  inference  with  your  creditors  that  you  have  still 
more   property   secreted.      Hence,  mark  me !   it   behoves 
you  to  keep  close  lips.     Don't  let  your  right  hand  know 
what  your  left  does,"  continues  the  officer,  in  a  tone  of 
friendliness.     They  ascend  to  the  iron  gate,  look  through 
the  grating.     The  officer,  giving  a  whistle,  rings  the  bell  by 
touching  a  spring  in  the  right-hand  wall.     "  My  lot  at  last!" 
exclaims   Marston.     "  Hosv  many  poo?  unfortunates  have 
passed  this  threshold — how  many  times  the  emotions  of  the 
heart  have  burst  forth  on  this   spot — how  many  have  here 
found  a  gloomy  rest  from   their  iniportuners — how  many 
have  here  \vhiled  away  precious  time  in  a  gloomy  cell,  pro 
vided  for  the  punishment  of  poverty  !"     The  disowned  man, 
for  such  he  is,  struggles  to  retain  his  resolution ;  fain  would 


374  MARSTON  IN  PRISON. 

he,  knowing  the  price  of  that  resolution,  repress  those  sen 
sations  threatening  to  overwhelm  him. 

The  brusque  gaoler  appears  at  the  iron  gate  ;  stands  his 
burly  figure  in  the  portal ;  nods  recognition  to  the  officer ; 
swings  back  the  iron  frame,  as  a  number  of  motley  prisoners 
gather  into  a  semicircle  in  the  passage.  "  Gro  back,  pri 
soners;  don't  stare  so  at  every  new  comer,"  says  the  gaoler, 
clearing  the  way  with  his  hands  extended. 

One  or  two  of  the  locked-up  recognise  Marston.  They 
lisp  strange  remarks,  drawn  forth  by  his  appearance  in 
charge  of  an  officer.  "  Big  as  well  as  little  fish  bring  up 
here,"  ejaculates  one. 

"  Where  are  his  worshippers  and  his  hospitable  friends  ?' 
whispers  another. 

"There's  not  much  hospitality  for  poverty,"  rejoins  a 
third,  mutteringly.  "  Southern  hospitality  is  unsound, 
shallow,  and  flimsy ;  a  little  dazzling  of  observances  to  cover 
very  bad  facts.  You  are  sure  to  find  a  people  who  main 
tain  the  grossest  errors  in  their  political  system  laying  the 
greatest  claims  to  benevolence  and  principle— things  to 
which  they  never  had  a  right.  The  phantom  of  hospitality 
draws  the  curtain  over  many  a  vice — it  is  a  well-told  no 
thingness  ornamenting  the  beggared  system  of  y/mr  slavery ; 
that's  my  honest  opinion,"  says  a  third,  in  a  gruff  voice, 
which  indicates  that  he  has  no  very  choice  opinion  of  such 
generosity.  "  If  they  want  a  specimen  of  true  hospitality, 
they  must  go  to  New  England ;  there  the  poor  man's  offer' 
ing  stocks  the  garden  of  liberty,  happiness,  and  justice  ;  and 
from  them  spring  the  living  good  of  all,"  he  concludes  ;  and 
folding  his  arms  with  an  air  of  independence,  walks  up  the 
long  passage  running  at  right  angles  with  the  entrance 
portal,  and  disappears  in  a  cell  on  the  left. 

"  I  knew  him  when  he  was  great  on  the  turf.  He  was 
very  distinguished  then."  "  He'll  be  extinguished  here," 
insinuates  another,  as  he  protrudes  his  eager  face  over  the 
shoulders  of  those  who  are  again  crowding  round  the  office- 
door,  Marston  and  the  officer  having  entered  following  the 
gaoler. 

The  sheriff  passes  the  committimus  to  the  man  of  keys ; 
that  functionary  takes  his  seat  at  a  small  desk,  while  Marston 
stands  by  its  side,  watching  the  process  of  his  prison  recep 
tion,  in  silence.  The  gaoler  reads  the  commitment,  dravrs 


MARSTON  IN  PRISON.  375 

a  book  deliberately  from  off  a  side  window,  spreads  it  open 
on  his  desk,  and  commences  humming  an  air.  "  Pootty 
smart  sums,  eh!"  he  says,  looking  up  at  the  sheriff,  as  he 
holds  a  quill  in  his  left  hand,  and  feels  with  the  fingers  of 
his  right  for  a  knife,  which,  he  observes,  he  always  keeps  in 
his  right  vest  pocket.  "  We  have  a  poor  debtor's  calendar 
for  registering  these  things.  I  do  these  things  different  from 
other  gaolers,  and  it  loses  me  nothin'.  I  goes  on  the  true 
principle,  that  'tant  right  to  put  criminals  and  debtors 
together  ;  and  if  the  state  hasn't  made  provision  for  keeping 
them  in  different  cells,  I  makes  a  difference  on  the  books, 
and  that's  somethin'.  Helps  the  feelins  over  the  smarting 
point,"  says  the  benevolent  keeper  of  all  such  troublesome 
persons  as  won't  pay  their  debts  ; — as  if  the  monstrous  con 
centration  of  his  amiability,  in  keeping  separate  books  for 
the  criminal  and  poverty-stricken  gentlemen  of  his  esta 
blishment,  must  be  duly  appreciated.  Marston,  particularly, 
is  requested  to  take  the  initiative,  he  being  the  most  aristo 
cratic  fish  the  gaoler  has  caught  in  a  long  time.  But  the 
man  has  made  his  pen,  and  now  he  registers  Marston's 
name  among  the  state's  forlorn  gentlemen,  commonly  called 
poor  debtors.  They  always  confess  themselves  in  dependent 
circumstances.  Endorsing  the  commitment,  he  returns  it 
to  the  sheriff,  who  will  keep  the  original  carefully  filed  away 
in  his  own  well-stocked  department.  The  sheriff  will  bid 
his  prisoner  good  morning !  having  reminded  the  gaoler  what 
good  care  it  was  desirable  to  take  of  his  guest ;  and,  ex 
tending  his  hand  and  shaking  that  of  Marston  warmly,  takes 
his  departure,  whilst  our  gaoler  leads  Marston  into  an 
almost  empty  cell,  where  he  hopes  he  will  find  things  comforta 
ble,  and  leaves  him  to  contemplate  upon  the  fallen  fruit  of  pov 
erty.  "  Come  to  this,  at  last ! "  said  Marston,  entering  the 
cavern-like  place. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

VENDERS  OF  HUMAN  PROPERTY  ARE  NOT  RESPONSIBLE  FOB 
ITS  MENTAL  CAPRICES. 

READEB  !  be  patient  with  us,  for  our  task  is  complex  and 
tedious.  "We  have  but  one  great  object  in  view — that  of 
showing  a  large  number  of  persons  in  the  south,  now  held 
as  slaves,  who  are  by  the  laws  of  the  land,  as  well  as  the 
laws  of  nature,  entitled  to  their  freedom.  These  people,  for 
whom,  in  the  name  of  justice  and  every  offspring  of  human 
right,  we  plead,  were  consigned  to  the  bondage  they  now 
endure  through  the  unrighteous  act  of  one  whose  name 
(instead  of  being  execrated  by  a  nation  jealous  of  its  honour), 
a  singular  species  of  southern  historian  has  attempted  to 
enshrine  with  fame.  Posterity,  ignorant  of-his  character,  will 
find  Ms  name  clothed  with  a  paragon's  armour,  while 
respecting  the  writer  who  so  cleverly  with  a  pen  obliterated 
his  crimes.  We  have  only  feelings  of  pity  for  the  historian 
who  discards  truth  thus  to  pollute  paper  with  his  kindness  ; 
such  debts  due  to  friendship  are  badly  paid  at  the  shrine  of 
falsehood.  No  such  debts  do  we  owe  ;  we  shall  perform  our 
duty  fearlessly,  avoiding  dramatic  effect,  or  aught  else  that 
may  tend  to  improperly  excite  the  feelings  of  the  benevolent. 
No  one  better  knows  the  defects  of  our  social  system — 
no  one  feels  more  forcibly  that  much  to  be  lamented  fact 
of  there  being  no  human  law  extant  not  liable  to  be  evaded 
or  weakened  by  the  intrigues  of  designing  men  ; — we  know 
of  no  power  reposed  in  man  the  administration  of  which  is 
not  susceptible  of  abuse,  or  being  turned  to  means  of 
oppression :  how  much  more  exposed,  then,  must  all  these 
functions  be  where  slavery  in  its  popular  sway  rides  tri 
umphant  over  the  common  law  of  the  land.  Divine  laws 
are  with  impunity  disregarded  and  abused  by  anointed 
teachers  of  divinity.  Peculation,  in  sumptuous  garb,  and 
with  modern  appliances,  finds  itself  modestly — perhaps 
unconsciously — gathering  dross  at  the  sacred  altar.  How 
saint-like  in  semblance,  and  how  unconscious  of  wrong,  are 


IBBESPONSIBILITY  OP  VENDEES  OF  HUMAN  PBOPEBTY.   377 

ye  bishops  (holy  ones,  scarce  of  earth,  in  holy  lawn)  in 
that  land  of  freedom  where  the  slave's  chains  fall  ere  his 
foot  pads  its  soil !  how  calmly  resigned  the  freemen  who  yield 
to  the  necessity  of  making  strong  the  altar  with  the  sword 
of  state !  How,  in  the  fulness  of  an  expansive  soul,  these 
little  ones,  in  lawn  so  white,  spurn  the  unsanctified  spoiler — 
themselves  neck-deep  in  the  very  coffers  of  covetousness 
the  while  !  How  to  their  Christian  spirit  it  seems  ordained 
they  should  see  a  people's  ekeinga  serve  their  rolling  in 
wealth  and  luxury !  and,  yet,  let  no  man  question  their 
walking  in  the  ways  of  a  meek  and  lowly  Saviour — that 
Redeemer  of  mankind  whose  seamless  garb  nomanpurchaseth 
with  the  rights  of  his  fellow.  Complacently  innocent  of 
themselves,  they  would  have  us  join  their  flock  and  follow 
them, — their  pious  eyes  seeing  only  heavenly  objects  to  be 
gained,  and  their  pure  hearts  beating  in  heavy  throbs  for 
the  wicked  turmoil  of  our  common  world.  Pardon  us, 
brother  of  the  flesh,  say  they,  in  saintly  whispers, — it  is  all 
for  the  Church  and  Christ.  Boldly  fortified  with  sancti 
mony,  they  hurl  back  the  shafts  of  reform,  and  ask  to  live 
on  sumptuously,  as  the  only  sought  recompense  for  their 
Christian  love.  Pious  infallibility !  how  blind,  to  see  not 
the  crime ! 

Reader !  excuse  the  diversion,  and  accompany  us  while 
we  retrace  our  steps  to  where  we  left  the  loquacious  Mr. 
M'Fadden,  recovered  from  the  fear  of  death,  which  had 
been  produced  by  whiskey  in  draughts  too  strong.  In 
company  with  a  numerous  party,  he  is  just  returning  from 
an  unsuccessful  search  for  his  lost  preacher.  They  have 
scoured  the  lawns,  delved  the  morasses,  penetrated  thick 
jungles  of  brakes,  driven  the  cypress  swamps,  and  sent  the 
hounds  through  places  seemingly  impossible  for  human  being 
to  seclude  himself,  and  where  only  the  veteran  rattlesnake 
would  seek  to  lay  his  viperous  head.  No  preacher  have 
they  found.  They  utter  vile  imprecations  on  his  head,  pit 
him  "  a  common  nigger,"  declare  he  has  just  learned 
enough,  in  his  own  crooked  way,  to  be  dubious  property — 
good,  if  a  man  can  keep  him  at  minister  business. 

Mine  host  of  the  Inn  feels  assured,  if  he  be  hiding 
among  the  swamp  jungle,  the  snakes  and  alligators  will 
certainly  drive  him  out :  an  indisputable  fact  this,  inasmuch 
as  alligators  and  snakes  hate  niggers.  M'Fadden  affirms 


878  VENDERS  OF  HUMAN  PROPERTY  ABE  NOT 

solemnly,  that  the  day  he  bought  that  clergyman  was 
one  of  the  unlucky  days  of  his  life ;  and  he  positively  regrets 
ever  having  been  a  politician,  or  troubling  his  head  about 
the  southern-rights  question.  The  party  gather  round  the 
front  stoop,  and  are  what  is  termed  in  southern  parlance 
"  tuckered  out."  They  are  equally  well  satisfied  of  having 
done  their  duty  to  the  state  and  a  good  cause.  Dogs, 
their  tails  drooping,  sneak  to  their  kennels,  horses  reek 
with  foam,  the  human  dogs  will  "  liquor"  long  and  strong. 

"  Tisn't  such  prime  stock,  after  all !"  says  M'Fadden, 
entering  the  veranda,  reeking  with  mud  and  perspiration : 
"  after  a  third  attempt  we  had  as  well  give  it  up."  He 
shakes  his  head,  and  then  strikes  his  whip  on  the  floor. 
I'll  stand  shy  about  buying  a  preacher,  another  time,"  he 
continues  ;  like  a  man,  much  against  his  will,  forced  to  give 
up  a  prize. 

The  crackers  and  wire-grass  men  (rude  sons  of  the  sand 
hills),  take  the  matter  more  philosophically, — probably 
under  the  impression  that  to  keep  quiet  will  be  to  "  bring 
the  nigger  out"  where  he  may  be  caught  and  the  reward 
secured.  Two  hundred  dollars  is  a  sum  for  which  they 
would  not  scruple  to  sacrifice  life ;  but  they  have  three 
gods — whiskey,  ignorance,  and  idleness,  any  one  of  which 
can  easily  gain  a  mastery  over  their  faculties. 

Mr.  M'l'adden  requests  that  his  friends  will  all  come  into 
the  bar-room — all  jolly  fellows  ;  w-hich,  when  done,  he  orders 
mine  host  to  supply  as  much  "  good  strong  stuff"  as  will 
warm  up  their  spirits.  He,  however,  will  first  take  a  glass 
himself,  that  he  may  drink  all  their  very  good  healths. 
This  compliment  paid,  he  finds  himself  pacing  up  and  down, 
and  across  the  room,  now  and  then  casting  suspicious 
glances  at  the  notice  of  reward,  as  if  questioning  the  policy  of 
offering  so  large  an  amount.  But  sundown  is  close  upon  them, 
and  as  the  bar- room  begins  to  fill  up  again,  each  new-comer 
anxiously  enquires  the  result  of  the  last  search, — which  only 
serves  to  increase  the  disappointed  gentleman's  excitement. 
The  affair  has  been  unnecessarily  expensive,  for,  in  addition 
to  the  loss  of  his  preacher,  the  price  of  whom  is  no  very 
inconsiderable  sum,  he  finds  a  vexatious  bill  running  up 
against  him  at  the  bar.  The  friendship  of  those  who  have 
sympathised  with  him,  and  have  joined  him  in  the  exhila 
rating  sport  of  man-hunting,  must  be  repaid  with  swimming 


RESPONSIBLE  FOR  ITS  MENTAL  CAPRICES.  379 

drinks.     Somewhat  celebrated  for  economy,  his  friends  are 

surprised  to  find  him,  on  this  occasion,  rather  inclined  to 

extend  the  latitude  of  his  liberality.     His  keen  eye,  however, 

soon  detects,  to  his  sudden  surprise,  that  the  hunters  are 

not  alone  enjoying  his  liberality,  but  that  every  new  comer, 

finding  the  drinks  provided  at  M'Fadden's  expense,  has  no 

objection  to  join  in  drinking  his  health  ;  to  which  he  would 

have  no  sort  of  an  objection,  but  for  the  cost.     Like  all 

men  suffering  from  the  effect  of  sudden  loss,  he  begins  to 

consider  the  means  of  economising  by  which  he  may  repay 

the  loss  of  the  preacher.     "I  say,  Squire!"  he  ejaculates, 

suddenly  stopping  short  in  one  of  his  walks,  and  beckoning 

mine  host  aside,  "  That  won't  do,  it  won't!     It's  a  coming 

too  tough,  I   tell  you!"  he  says,   shaking  his   head,  and 

touching  mine  host    significantly  on  the  arm.     "  A  fellow 

what's   lost    his    property    in   this   shape    don't   feel   like 

drinkin  everybody  on  whiskey  what  costs  as  much  as  your 

'bright  eye.'       You   see,   every   feller  what's   comin  in's 

'  takin'   at  my  expense,    and  claiming    friendship  on  the 

strength  on't.     It  don't  pay,  Squire !    just   stop  it,  won't 

ye?" 

Mine  host  immediately  directs  the  bar-keeper,  with  a  sign 
and  a  whisper : — "  No  more  drinks  at  M'Fadden's  score, 
'cept  to  two  or  three  o'  the  most  harristocratic."  He  must 
not  announce  the  discontinuance  openly ;  it  will  insult  the 
feelings  of  the  friendly  people,  many  of  whom  anticipate  a 
feast  of  drinks  commensurate  with  their  services  and 
Mr.  Lawrence  M'Fadden's  distinguished  position  in  political 
life.  Were  they,  the  magnanimous  people,  informed  of  this 
sudden  shutting  off  of  their  supplies,  the  man  who  had  just 
enjoyed  their  nattering  encomiums  would  suddenly  find 
himself  plentifully  showered  with  epithets  a  tyrant  slave- 
dealer  could  scarcely  endure. 

Calling  mine  host  into  a  little  room  opening  from  the  bar, 
he  takes  him  by  the  arm, — intimates  his  desire  to  have  a 
consultation  on  the  state  of  his  affairs,  and  the  probable 
whereabouts  of  his  divine: — "You  see,  this  is  all  the 
thanks  I  get  for  my  kindness  (he  spreads  his  hands  and 
shrugs  his  shoulders,)  A  northern  man  may  do  what  he 
pleases  for  southern  rights,  and  it's  just  the  same ;  he  never 
gets  any  thanks  for  it.  These  sort  o'  fellers  isn't  to  be 
sneered  at  when  a  body  wants  to  carry  a  political  end,"  he 
25 


380        VENDERS  OF  HUMAN  PROPERTY  ARE  NOT 

adds,  touching  mine  host  modestly  on  the  shoulder,  and 
giving  him  a  quizzing  look,  "  but  ye  can't  make  'urn  behave 
mannerly  towards  respectable  people,  such  as  you  and  me 
is.  But  'twould'nt  do  to  give  'urn  edukation,  for  they'd 
just  spile  society — they  would!  Ain't  my  ideas  logical, 
now,  squire  ?"  Mr.  M'Fadden's  mind  seems  soaring  away 
among  the  generalities  of  state. 

"Well !"  returns  mine  host,  prefacing  the  importance  of 
his  opinion  with  an  imprecation,  "  I'm  fixed  a'tween  two 
fires ;  so  I  can't  say  what  would  be  square  policy  in  affairs 
of  state.  One  has  feelina  different  on  these  things :  I 
depends  a  deal  on  what  our  big  folks  say  iu  the  way  of 
setting  examples.  And,  too,  what  can  you.  expect  when 
this  sort  a  ruff-scuff  forms  the  means  of  raising  their 
political  .positions ;  but,  they  are  customers  of  mine, — have 
made  my  success  in  tavern-keeping !"  he  concludes,  in  an 
earnest  whisper. 

"ISTow,  squire!"  M'Fadden places  his  hand  in  mine  host's 
arm,  and  looks  at  him  seriously :  "  What  'bout  that  ar' 
nigger  preacher  gittin  off  so  ?  No  way  t'  find  it  out,  eh ! 
squire  ?"  MTadden  enquires,  with  great  seriousness. 

"  Can't  tell  how  on  earth  the  critter  did  the  thing  ;  looked 
like  peaceable  property  when  he  went  to  be  locked  up,  did  !" 

"  I  think  somebody's  responsible  for  him,  squire  ?"  inter 
rupts  M'Eadden,  watching  the  changes  of  the  other's  coun 
tenance  :  "  seerns  how  I  heard  ye  say  ye'd  take  the  risk " 

"No, — no, — no!"  rejoins  the  other,  quickly  ;  "that  never 
will  do.  I  never  receipt  for  nigger  property,  never  hold 
myself  responsible  to  the  customers,  and  never  run  any  risks 
about  their  niggers.  You  forget,  my  friend,  that  whatever 
shadow  of  a  claim  you  had  on  me  by  law  was  invalidated  by 
your  own  act." 

"My  own  act?"  interrupts  the  disappointed  man.  "How 
by  my  own  act?  explain  yourself!"  suddenly  allowing  his 
feelings  to  become  excited. 

"  Sending  for  him  to  come  to  your  bedside  and  pray  for 
you.  It  was  when  you  thought  Mr.  Jones,  the  gentleman 
with  the  horns,  stood  over  you  with  a  warrant  in  his  hand," 
mine  host  whispers  in  his  ear,  shrugging  his  shoulders,  and 
giving  his  face  a  quizzical  expression.  "  You  appreciated 
the  mental  of  the  property  then  ;  but  now  you  view  it  as  a 
decided  defect." 


RESPONSIBLE  FOB  ITS  MENTAL  CAPBICES.  381 

The  disappointed  gentleman  remains  silent  for  a  few 
moments.  He  is  deeply  impressed  with  the  anomaly  of  his 
case,  but  has  not  the  slightest  objection  to  fasten  the  respon 
sibility  on  somebody,  never  for  a  moment  supposing  the  law 
would  interpose  against  the  exercise  of  his  very  best  incli 
nations.  He  hopes  God  will  bless  him,  says  it  is  always  his 
luck  ;  yet  he  cannot  relinquish  the  idea  of  somebody  being 
responsible.  He  will  know  more  about  the  preaching  rascal's 
departure.  Turning  to  mine  host  of  the  inn :  "  But,  you 
must  have  a  clue  to  him,  somewhere  ?"  he  says,  enquiringly. 

"  There's  my  woman ;  can  see  if  she  knows  anything 
about  the  nigger  !"  returns  mine  host,  complacently.  Ellen 
Juvarna  is  brought  into  the  presence  of  the  injured  man, 
who  interrogates  her  with  great  care ;  but  all  her  disclosures 
only  tend  to  throw  a  greater  degree  of  mystery  over  the 
whole  affair.  At  this,  Mr.  M'Padden  declares  that  the 
policy  he  has  always  maintained  with  reference  to  education 
is  proved  true  with  the  preacher's  running  away.  Nigger 
property  should  never  be  perverted  by  learning ;  though, 
if  you  could  separate  the  nigger  from  the  preaching  part  of 
the  property,  it  might  do  some  good,  for  preaching  was  at 
times  a  good  article  to  distribute  among  certain  slaves 
"  what  had  keen  instincts."  At  times,  nevertheless,  it 
would  make  them  run  away.  Ellen  knew  Harry  as  a  good 
slave,  a  good  man,  a  good  Christian,  sound  in  his  probity, 
not  at  all  inclined  to  be  roguish, — as  most  niggers  are — 
a  little  given  to  drink,  but  never  bad-tempered.  Her  honest 
opinion  is  that  such  a  pattern  of  worthy  nature  and  moral 
firmness  would  not  disgrace  itself  by  running  away,  unless 
induced  by  white  "  Buckra."  She  thinks  she  heard  a  lum 
bering  and  shuffling  somewhere  about  the  pen,  shortly  after 
midnight.  It  might  have  been  wolves,  however.  To  all  this 
Mr.  M'Eadden  listens  with  marked  attention.  Now  and 
then  he  interposes  a  word,  to  gratify  some  new  idea  swelling 
his  brain.  There  is  nothing  satisfactory  yet :  he  turns  the 
matter  over  and  over  in  his  mind,  looks  Ellen  steadfastly  in 
the  face,  and  watches  the  movement  of  every  muscle.  "Ah  !" 
he  sighs,  "  nothing  new  developing."  He  dismissed  the 
wench,  and  turns  to  mine  host  of  the  inn.  "  Now,  squire, 
(one  minute  mine  host  is  squire,  and  the  next  Mr.  Jones) 
tell  ye  what  'tis  ;  thar's  roguery  goin  on  somewhere  among 
them  ar'  fellers — them  sharpers  in  the  city,  I  means  !  (he 


332        VENDERS  OF  HUMAN  PROPERTY  ARE  NOT 

shakes  his  head  knowingly,  and  buttons  his  light  sack-coat 
round  him).  That's  a  good  gal,  isn't  she?"  he  enquires, 
drawing  his  chair  somewhat  closer,  his  hard  face  assuming 
great  seriousness. 

Mine  host  gives  an  affirmative  nod,  and  says,  "  Nothin 
shorter  !  Can  take  her  word  on  a  turn  of  life  or  death.  Tip 
top  gal,  that !  Paid  a  price  for  her  what  u'd  make  ye  wink, 
I  reckon." 

"  That's  just  what  I  wanted  to  know,"  he  interrupts, 
suddenly  grasping  the  hand  of  his  friend.  "  Te  see  how  I'se 
a  little  of  a  philosopher,  a  tall  politician,  and  a  major  in  the 
brigade  down  our  district, — I  didn't  get  my  law  akermin  for 
nothin ;  and  now  I  jist  discovers  how  somebody — I  mean 
some  white  somebody — has  had  a  hand  in  helpin  that  ar' 
nig'  preacher  to  run  off.  Cus'd  critters  !  never  know  nothing 
till  some  white  nigger  fills  their  heads  with  roguery." 

"  Say,  my  worthy  MTadden,"  interrupts  the  publican, 
rising  suddenly  from  his  seat,  as  if  some  new  discovery  had 
just  broke  forth  in  his  mind,  "  war'nt  that  boy  sold  under  a 
warrant  ?" 

"  Warranted — warranted — warranted  sound  in  every  par 
ticular  ?  That  he  was.  Just  think  of  this,  squire  ;  you're 
a  knowin  one.  It  takes  you  !  I  never  thought  on't  afore, 
and  have  had  all  my  nervousness  for  nothin.  Warranted 
sound  in  every  particular,  means " 

"  A  moment !"  mine  host  interposes,  suddenly  :  "  there's 
a  keen  point  of  law  there  ;  but  it  might  be  twisted  to  some 
account,  if  a  body  only  had  the  right  sort  of  a  lawyer  to 
twist  it," 

The  perplexed  man  rejoins  by  hoping  he  may  not  be  in 
terrupted  just  at  this  moment.  He  is  just  getting  the 
point  of  it  straight  in  his  mind.  "  You  see,"  he  says,  "  the 
thing  begun  to  dissolve  itself  in  my  philosophy,  and  by  that 
I  discovered  the  pint  the  whole  thing  stands  on.  Its 
entirely  metaphysical,  though,"  he  says,  with  a  significant 
shake  of  the  head.  He  laughs  at  his  discovery  ;  his  father, 
long  since,  told  him  he  was  exceedingly  clever.  Quite  a 
match  for  the  publican  in  all  matters  requiring  a  compre 
hensive  mind,  he  declares  there  are  few  lawyers  his  equal  at 
penetrating  into  points.  "  He  warranted  him  in  every  par 
ticular,"  he  mutters,  as  mine  host,  watching  his  seriousness, 
endeavours  to  suppress  a  smile.  M'Faddeu  makes  a  most 


BESPONSIBLE  FOB  ITS  MENTAL  CAPRICES.  383 

learned  motion  of  the  fore  finger  of  the  right  hand,  which  he 
presses  firmly  into  the  palm  of  his  left,  while  contracting  his 
brows.  He  will  soon  essay  forth  the  point  of  logic  he  wishes 
to  enforce.  The  property  being  a  certain  man  endowed  with 
preaching  propensities,  soundness  means  the  qualities  of  the 
man,  mental  as  well  as  physical;  and  running  away  being  an 
unsound  quality,  the  auctioneer  is  responsible  for  all  such 
contingencies.  I  have  him  there, — I  have  !"  he  holds  up 
his  hands  exultingly,  as  he  exclaims  the  words ;  his  face 
brightens  with  animation.  Thrusting  his  hands  into  his 
trowsers  pockets  he  paces  the  room  for  several  minutes,  at  a 
rapid  pace,  as  if  his  mind  had  been  relieved  of  some  deep 
study.  "  I  will  go  directly  into  the  city,  and  there  see  what 
I  can  do  with  the  chap  I  bought  that  feller  of.  I  think 
when  I  put  the  law  points  to  him,  he'll  shell  out." 

Making  some  preliminary  arrangements  with  Jones  of 
the  tavern,  he  orders  a  horse  to  the  door  immediately,  and 
in  a  few  minutes  more  is  hastening  on  his  way  to  the  city. 

Arriving  about  noon-day,  he  makes  his  way  through  its 
busy  thoroughfares,  and  is  soon  in  the  presence  of  the 
auctioneer.  There,  in  wondrous  dignity,  sits  the  seller  of 
bodies  and  souls,  his  cushioned  arm-chair  presenting  an  air 
of  opulence.  How  coolly  that  pomp  of  his  profession  sits 
on  the  hard  mask  of  his  iron  features,  beneath  which  lurks 
a  contempt  of  shame!  He  is  an  important  item  in  the  poli 
tical  hemisphere  of  the  state,  has  an  honourable  position  in 
society  (for  he  is  high  above  the  minion  traders),  joined  the 
Episcopal  church  not  many  months  ago,  and  cautions  Mr. 
MTaddeii  against  the  immorality  of  using  profane  lan 
guage,  which  that  aggrieved  individual  allows  to  escape  his 
lips  ere  he  enters  the  door. 

The  office  of  our  man  of  fame  and  fortune  is  thirty  feet 
long  by  twenty  wide,  and  sixteen  high.  Its  walls  are  bril 
liantly  papered,  and  painted  with  landscape  designs ;  and 
from  the  centre  of  the  ceiling  hangs  a  large  chandelier,  with 
ground-glass  globes,  on  which  eagles  of  liberty  are  inscribed. 
Fine  black-walnut  desks,  in  chaste  carving,  stand  along 
its  sides,  at  which  genteelly-dressed  clerks  are  exhibiting 
great  attention  to  business.  An  oil-cloth,  with  large  flowers 
painted  on  its  surface,  spreads  the  floor,  while  an  air  of 
neatness  reigns  throughout  the  establishment  singularly  at 
variance  with  the  outer  mart,  where  Mr.  Forshou  sells  his 


384  VEHDEKS  OF  HUMAJT  PKOPE11TY  ABE  NOT 

men,  women,  and  little  children.  But  its  walls  are  hung 
•with  badly-executed  engravings,  in  frames  of  gilt.  Of  the 
distinguished  vender's  taste  a  correct  estimation  may  be 
drawn  when  we  inform  the  reader  that  many  of  these 
engravings  represented  uude  females  and  celebrated  race 
horses. 

"  Excuse  me,  sir  !  I  didn't  mean  it,"  Mr.  M'Eadden  says, 
in  reply  to  the  gentleman's  caution,  approaching  him  as  he 
sits  in  his  elegant  chair,  a  few  feet  from  the  street  door, 
luxuriantly  enjoying  a  choice  regalia.  "  It's  the  little  point 
of  a  very  nasty  habit  that  hangs  upon  me  yet.  I  does 
let  out  the  swear  once  in  a  while,  ye  see  ;  but  it's  only  when 
I  gets  a  crook  in  my  mind  what  won't  come  straight." 
Thus  M'Eadden  introduces  himself,  surprised  to  find  the 
few  very  consistent  oaths  he  has  made  use  of  not  compatible 
with  the  man-seller's  pious  business  habits.  He  will  be 
cautious  the  next  time ;  he  will  not  permit  such  foul  breath 
to  escape  and  wound  the  gentleman's  very  tender  feelings. 

Mr.  Lawrence  M'Eadden  addresses  him  as  squire,  and 
with  studious  words  informs  him  of  the  nigger  preacher 
property  he  sold  him  having  actually  run  away  !  "  Ye  war 
ranted  him,  ye  know,  squire  !"  he  says,  discovering  the  object 
of  his  visit,  then  drawing  a  chair,  and  seating  himself  in 
close  proximity. 

"  Can't  help  that — quality  we  never  warrant !"  coolly  re 
turns  the  other,  turning  politely  in  his  arm-chair,  which 
works  in  a  socket,  and  directing  a  clerk  at  one  of  the  desks 
to  add  six  months'  interest  to  the  item  of  three  wenches  sold 
at  ten  o'clock. 

"  Don't  talk  that  ar  way,  squire !  I  trades  a  deal  in  your 
line,  and  a  heap  o'  times,  with  you.  Now  we'll  talk  over  the 
legal  points." 

"  Make  them  short,  if  you  please !" 

"  Well !  ye  warranted  the  nigger  in  every  particular. 
There 's  the  advertisement ;  and  there  's  no  getting  over 
that !  Te  must  do  the  clean  thing — no  possumiu — squire, 
or  there  '11  be  a  long  lawsuit  what  takes  the  tin.  Honour's 
the  word  in  our  trade."  He  watches  the  changes  that  are 
fast  coming  over  the  vender's  countenance,  folds  his  arms, 
places  his  right  foot  over  his  left  knee,  and  awaits  a  reply. 
Interrupting  the  vender  just  as  he  is  about  to  give  his 
opinion  he  draws  from  his  pocket  a  copy  of  the  paper  con- 


RESPONSIBLE  FOR  ITS  MENTAL  CAPRICES.  385 

tainmg  the  advertisement,  and  places  it  in  his  hand :  "  If 
ye'll  be  good  enough  to  squint  at  it,  ye'll  see  the  hang  o* 
my  ideas,"  he  says. 

'*  My  friend,"  returns  the  vender,  curtly,  having  glanced 
over  the  paper,  "  save  me  and  yourself  any  further  annoy 
ance.  I  could  have  told  you  how  far  the  property  was 
warranted,  before  I  read  the  paper  ;  and  I  remember  making 
some  very  particular  remarks  when  selling  that  item  in  the 
invoice.  A  nigger's  intelligence  is  often  a  mere  item  of  con 
sideration  in  the  amount  he  brings  under  the  hammer ;  but 
we  never  warrant  the  exercise  or  extension  of  it.  Po'h, 
man  !  we  might  just  as  well  attempt  to  warrant  a  nigger's 
stealing,  lying,  cunning,  and  all  such  '  cheating  master'  pro 
pensities.  Some  of  them  are  considered  qualities  of  much 
value — especially  by  poor  planters.  Warrant  nigger  pro 
perty  not  to  run  away,  eh  !  Oh !  nothing  could  be  worse  in 
our  business." 

"  A  minute,  squire !"  interrupts  the  appealing  Mr. 
M'Fadden,  just  as  the  other  is  about  to  add  a  suspending 
clause  to  his  remarks.  "  If  warrantin  nigger  proper  sound 
in  all  partiklers  is'ut  warrantin  it  not  to  run  away,  I'm  no 
deacon  !  When  a  nigger's  got  run-away  in  him  he  ain't 
sound  property,  no  way  ye  can  fix  it.  Te  may  turn  all  the 
law  and  philosophy  yer  mind  to  over  in  yer  head,  but  it 
won't  cum  common  sense  to  me,  that  ye  warrant  a  nigger's 
body  part,  and  let  the  head  part  go  unwarranted.  When  ye 
sells  a  critter  like  that,  ye  sells  all  his  deviltry;  and  when  ye 
warrants  one  ye  warrants  t'other ;  that's  the  square  rule  o' 
my  law  and  philosophy  !" 

The  vender  puffs  his  weed  very  coolly  the  while ;  and  then, 
calling  a  negro  servant,  orders  a  chair  upon  which  to  com 
fortably  place  his  feet.  "  Are  you  through,  my  friend  ?"  he 
enquires,  laconically ;  and  being  answered  in  the  affirmative, 
proceeds — "  I  fear  your  philosophy  is  common  philosophy — 
not  the  philosophy  upon  which  nigger  law  is  founded.  You 
don't  comprehend,  my  valued  friend,  that  when  we  insert 
that  negro  property  will  be  warranted,  we  don't  include  the 
thinking  part;  and,  of  course,  running  away  belongs  to 
that !"  he  would  inform  all  those  curious  on  such  matters. 
Having  given  this  opinion  for  the  benefit  of  M'Fadden, 
and  the  rest  of  mankind  interested  in  slavery,  he  rises 
from  his  seat,  elongates  himself  into  a  consequential  posi- 

c  c 


386        VENDERS  OF  HUMAN  PROPERTY  ARE  NOT 

tion,  and  stands  biting  bis  lips,  and  dangling  his  watch  chain 
with  the  fingers  of  his  left  hand. 

"  Take  ye  up,  there,"  the  other  suddenly  interrupts,  as  if 
he  has  drawn  the  point  from  his  antagonist,  and  is  prepared 
to  sustain  the  principle,  having  brought  to  his  aid  new  ideas 
from  the  deepest  recesses  of  his  logical  mind.  Grasping  the 
vender  firmly  by  the  arm,  he  looks  him  in  the  face,  and 
reminds  him  that  the  runaway  part  of  niggers  belongs  to 
the  heels,  and  not  to  the  head. 

The  vender  exhibits  some  discomfiture,  and,  at  the  same 
time,  a  decided  unwillingness  to  become  a  disciple  of  such 
philosophy.  Nor  is  he  pleased  with  the  familiarity  of  his 
importuning  customer,  whose  arm  he  rejects  with  a  repulsive 
air. 

There  has  evidently  become  a  very  nice  and  serious  ques 
tion,  of  which  Mr.  MTadden  is  inclined  to  take  a  common- 
sense  view.  His  opponent,  however,  will  not  deviate  from 
the  strictest  usages  of  business.  Business  mentioned  the 
mental  qualities  of  the  property,  but  warranted  only  the 
physical, — hence  the  curious  perplexity. 

While  the  point  stands  thus  nicely  poised  between  their 
logic,  Eomescos  rushes  into  the  office,  and,  as  if  to  surprise 
M'Padden,  extends  his  hand,  smiling  and  looking  in  his 
face  gratefully,  as  if  the  very  soul  of  friendship  incited  him. 
"Mighty  glad  to  see  ye,  old  Buck!"  he  ejaculates,  "feared 
ye  war  goin  to  kick  out." 

The  appalled  man  stands  for  a  few  seconds  as  unmoved  as 
a  statue  ;  and  then,  turning  with  a  half-subdued  smile,  takes 
the  hand  of  the  other,  coldly. 

" Friends  again !  ain't  we,  old  boy?"  breaks  forth  from 
Romescos,  who  continues  shaking  his  hand,  at  the  same 
time  turning  his  head  and  giving  a  significant  wink  to  a 
clerk  at  one  of  the  desks.  "  Politics  makes  bad  friends  now 
and  then,  but  I  always  thought  well  of  you,  Mack  !  Now, 
neighbour,  I'll  make  a  bargain  with  you ;  we'll  live  as  good 
folks  ought  to  after  this,"  B-omescos  continues,  laconically. 
His  advance  is  so  strange  that  the  other  is  at  a  loss  to  com 
prehend  its  purport.  He  casts  doubting  glances  at  his  wily 
antagonist,  seems  considering  how  to  appreciate  the  quality 
of  such  an  unexpected  expression  of  friendship,  and  is  half 
inclined  to  demand  an  earnest  of  its  sincerity.  At  the  same 
time,  and  as  the  matter  now  stands,  he  would  fain  give  his 


BESPONSIBLE  FOB  ITS  MENTAL  CAPRICES.  387 

considerate  friend  wide  space,  and  remain  within  a  proper 
range  of  etiquette  until  his  eyes  behold  the  substantial.  He 
draws  aside  from  Romescos,  who  says  tremblingly :  "  Losing 
that  preacher,  neighbour,  was  a  hard  case — warn't  it  ?  You 
wouldn't  a'  catched  this  individual  buyin'  preachers — know 
too  much  about  'em,  I  reckon !  It's  no  use  frettin,  though ; 
the  two  hundred  dollars  '11  bring  him.  This  child  wouldn't 
want  a  profitabler  day's  work  for  his  hound  dogs." 
Eomescos  winks  at  the  vender,  and  makes  grimaces  over 
M'Fadden's  shoulder,  as  that  gentleman  turns  and  grumbles 
out, — "  He  warranted  him  in  every  partikler  ;  and  running 
away  is  one  of  a  nigger's  partiklers  ?" 

"  My  pertinacious  friend  !"  exclaims  the  vender,  turning 
suddenly  towards  his  dissatisfied  customer,  seeing  you  are 
not  disposed  to  comprehend  the  necessities  of  my  business, 
nor  to  respect  my  position,  I  will  have  nothing  further  to 
say  to  you  upon  the  subject — not  another  word,  now !"  The 
dignified  gentleman  expresses  himself  in  peremptory  tones. 
It  is  only  the  obtuseness  of  his  innate  character  becoming 
unnecessarily  excited. 

Eomescos  interposes  a  word  or  two,  by  way  of  keeping 
up  the  zest ;  for  so  he  calls  it.  Things  are  getting  crooked, 
according  to  his  notion  of  the  dispute,  but  fightin'  won't 
bring  back  the  lost.  "  'Spose  ye  leaves  the  settlin  on't  to 
me  ?  There's  nothing  like  friendship  in  trade  ;  and  seeing 
how  I  am  up  in  such  matters,  p'raps  I  can  smooth  it 
down." 

"  There's  not  much  friendship  about  a  loss  of  this  kind  ; 
and  he  was  warranted  sound  in  every  particular !"  returns 
the  invincible  man,  shaking  his  head,  and  affecting  great 
seriousness  of  countenance. 

"  Stop  that  harpin,  I  say  !"  the  vender  demands,  drawing 
himself  into  a  pugnacious  attitude ;  "  your  insinuations 
against  my  honour  aggravate  me  more  and  more." 

"  Well !  just  as  you  say  about  it,"  is  the  cool  rejoinder. 
"  But  you  '11  have  to  settle  the  case  afore  lawyer  Sprouts, 
you  will !"  Stupidly  inclined  to  dog  his  opinions,  the 
sensitive  gentleman,  claiming  to  be  much  better  versed  in 
the  mode  of  selling  human  things,  becomes  fearfully  en 
raged.  MTadden  contends  purely  upon  contingencies 
which  may  arise  in  the  mental  and  physical  complications 


OOO        VENDERS  OF  HUMAN  PROPERTY  ARE  NOT 

of  property  in  man;  and  this  the  gentleman  man-seller 
cannot  bear  the  reiteration  of. 

Itomescos  thinks  it  is  at  best  but  a  perplexin  snarl, 
requiring  gentlemen  to  keep  very  cool.  To  him  they  are 
both  honourable  men,  who  should  not  quarrel  over  the 
very  small  item  of  one  preacher.  "  This  warrantin'  niggers' 
heads  never  amounts  to  anything, — it's  just  like  warrantin' 
their  heels ;  and  when  one  gets  bad,  isn't  t'other  sure  to 
be  rnoviu  ?  Them's  my  sentiments,  gratis  !"  Stepping  a 
few  feet  behind  M'Fadden,  ilomescos  rubs  his  hands  in 
great  anxiety,  makes  curious  signs  to  the  clerks  at  the  desk, 
and  charges  his  mouth  with  a  fresh  cut  of  tobacco. 

"  Nobody  bespoke  your  opinion,"  says  the  disconsolate 
M'Fadden,  turning  quickly,  in  consequence  of  a  sign  he 
detected  one  of  the  clerks  making,  and  catching  Romescos 
bestowing  a  grimace  of  no  very  complimentary  character, 
"  Your  presence  and  your  opinion  are,  in  my  estimation, 
things  that  may  easily  be  dispensed  with." 

"I  say!"  interrupts  Bomescos,  his  right  hand  in  a 
threatening  attitude,  "  not  quite  so  fast — he  drawls  his 
words — a  gentleman  don't  stand  an  insult  o'  that  sort. 
Just  draw  them  ar'  words  back,  like  a  yard  of  tape,  or 
this  individual  '11  do  a  small  amount  of  bruising  011  that 
ar'  profile,  (he  draws  his  hand  backward  and  forward 
across  M'Fadden's  face).  'Twon't  do  to  go  tb  church 
on  Sundays  with  a  broken  phiz  ?"  His  face  reddens  with 
anger,  as  he  works  his  head  into  a  daring  attitude,  grates 
his  teeth,  again  draws  his  fist  across  M'Fadden's  face  ;  and 
at  length  rubs  his  nasal  organ. 

"  I  understand  you  too  well !"  replies  M'Fadden,  with 
a  curt  twist  of  his  head.  "  A  man  of  your  cloth  can't  in 
sult*  a  gentleman  like  me ;  you're  lawless !"  He  moves 
towards  the  door,  stepping  sideways,  watching  liornescos 
over  his  left  shoulder. 

"  1  say  ! — Ilomescos  takes  his  man  by  the  arm — Come 
hack  here,  and  make  a  gentleman's  apology !"  He  lets  go 
M'Fadden's  arm  and  seizes  him  by  the  collar  violently,  his 
face  in  a  blaze  of  excitement. 

"Nigger  killer!"  ejaculates  M'Fadden,  " let  go  there !" 
He  gives  his  angry  antagonist  a  determined  leok,  as  be, 
for  a  moment,  looses  his  hold.  He  pauses,  as  if  contem 
plating  his  next  move. 


EESPONSIBLE  FOE  ITS  MENTAL  CAPRICES.  389 

The  very  amiable  and  gentlemanly  man-vender  thinka  it 
time  he  interposed  for  the  purpose  of  reconciling  matters. 
"  Gentlemen !  gentlemen  !  respect  me,  if  you  do  not  respect 
yourselves.  My  office  is  no  place  for  such  disgraceful  broils 
as  these;  you  must  go  elsewhere."  The  modest  gentleman, 
whose  very  distinguished  family  connexions  have  done  much 
to  promote  his  interests,  would  have  it  particularly  under 
stood  that  his  ofiice  is  an  important  place,  used  only  for  the 
very  distinguished  business  of  selling  men,  women,  and  little 
children.  But  E/omescos  is  not  so  easily  satisfied.  He 
pushes  the  amiable  gentleman  aside,  calls  Mr.  Lawrence 
M'Fadden  a  tyrant  what  kills  niggers  by  the  detestably 
mean  process  of  starving  them  to  death.  "  A  pretty  feller 
he  is  to  talk  about  nigger  killin !  And  just  think  what 
our  state  has  come  to  when  such  fellers  as  him  can  make 
votes  for  the  next  election!"  says  Bomescos,  addressing 
himself  to  the  vender.  "  The  Irish  influence  is  fast  destroy 
ing  the  political  morality  of  the  country." 

Turning  to  Mr.  M'Fadden,  who  seems  preparing  for  a 
display  of  his  combativeness,  he  adds,  "  Te  sec,  Mack,  ye 
will  lie,  and  lie  crooked  too  !  and  ye  will  steal,  and  steal 
dishonourably  ;  and  I  can  lick  a  dozen  on  ye  quicker  nor 
chain  lightuiu  ?  I  can  send  the  hoi  batch  on  ye — rubbish 
as  it  is — to  take  supper  t'other  side  of  sundown."  To 
be  equal  with  his  adversary,  Bomescos  is  evidently  preparing 
himself  for  the  reception  of  something  more  than  words. 
Twice  or  thrice  he  is  seen  to  pass  his  right  hand  into  the 
left  breast  pocket  of  his  sack,  where  commonly  his  shining 
steel  is  secreted.  In  another  moment  he  turns  suddenly 
towards  the  vender,  pushes  him  aside  with  his  left  hand,  and 
brings  his  right  in  close  proximity  with  Mr.  M'Fadden's 
left  listener.  That  individual  exhibits  signs  of  renewed 
courage,  to  which  he  adds  the  significant  warning :  "  Not 
quite  so  close,  if  you  please  !" 

"  As  close  as  I  sees  fit !"  returns  the  other,  with  a  sardonic 
grin.  "  Why  don't  you  resent  it  ? — a  gentleman  would  !" 

Following  the  word,  Mr.  M'Fadden  makes  a  pass  at  his 
antagonist,  which,  he  says,  is  only  with  the  intention  of 
keeping  him  at  a  respectful  distance.  Scarcely  has  hia 
arm  passed  when  Bomescos  cries  out,  "  There !  he  has 
struck  me!  He  has  struck  me  again!"  and  deals  M'Fadden 
a  blow  with  his  clenched  fist  that  fells  him  lumbering  to  the 


390  VENDERS  OF  HUMAN  PROPEKTT  AI1E  NOT 

floor.     Simultaneously  Homescos   falls   upon  his  prostrate 
victim,  and  a  desperate  struggle  ensues. 

The  vender,  whose  sacred  premises  are  thus  disgraced, 
runs  out  to  call  the  police,  while  the  clerks  make  an 
ineffectual  attempt  to  separate  the  combatants.  Not  a 
policeman  is  to  be  found.  At  night  they  may  be  seen, 
swarming  the  city,  guarding  the  fears  of  a  white  populace 
ever  sensitive  of  black  rebellion. 

Like  an  infuriated  tiger,  Romescos,  nimble  as  a  catamount, 
is  fast  destroying  every  vestige  of  outline  in  his  antagonist's 
face,  drenching  it  with  blood,  and  adding  ghastliuess  by  the 
strangulation  he  is  endeavouring  to  effect. 

"  Try — try — trying  to — kill — me — eh  ?  You — you  mad 
brute!"  gutters  out  the  struggling  man,  his  eyes  starting 
from  the  sockets  like  balls  of  fire,  while  gore  and  saliva 
foam  from  his  mouth  and  nostrils  as  if  his  struggles  are  in 
death. 

"  Kill  ye — kill  ye  ?"  Romescos  rejoins,  the  shaggy  red 
hair  falling  in  tufts  about  his  face,  now  burning  \vith 
desperation :  "  it  would  be  killin'  only  a  wretch  whose 
death  society  calls  for." 

At  this,  the  struggling  man,  like  one  borne  to  energy  by 
the  last  throes  of  despair,  gives  a  desperate  spring,  succeeds 
in  turning  his  antagonist,  grasps  him  by  the  throat  with 
his  left  hand,  and  from  his  pocket  fires  a  pistol  with  his 
right.  The  report  alarms.;  the  shrill  whistle  calls  to  the 
rescue  ;  but  the  ball  has  only  taken  effect  in  the  flesh  of 
Romescos's  right  arm.  Quick  to  the  moment,  his  arm 
dripping  with  gore  from  the  wound,  he  draws  his  glittering 
dirk,  and  plunges  it,  with  unerring  aim,  into  the  breast  of 
his  antagonist.  The  wounded  man  starts  convulsively,  as 
the  other  coolly  draws  back  the  weapon,  the  blood  gushing 
forth  in  a  livid  stream.  "Is  not  that  in  self-defence?" 
exclaims  the  bloody  votary,  turning  his  haggard  and 
enraged  face  to  receive  the  approval  of  the  bystanders. 
The  dying  man,  writhing  under  the  grasp  of  his  murderer, 
utters  a  piercing  shriek.  "  Murdered !  I'm  dying !  Oh, 
heaven !  is  this  my  last — last — last  ?  Forgive  me,  Lord, 
— forgive  me  !"  he  gurgles;  and  making  another  convulsive 
effort,  wrings  his  body  from  under  the  perpetrator  of  the 
foul  deed.  How  tenacious  of  life  is  the  dying  man  !  He 
grasps  the  leg  of  a  desk,  raises  himself  to  his  feet,  and, 


RESPONSIBLE  FOR  ITS  MENTAL  CAPRICES.  391 

as  if  goaded  with  the  thoughts  of  hell,  in  his  last  struggles 
staggers  to  the  door, — discharges  a  second  shot,  vaults,  as  it 
were,  into  the  street,  and  falls  prostrate  upon  the  pavement, 
surrounded  by  a  crowd  of  eager  lookers-on.  He  is  dead ! 
The  career  of  Mr.  M'Fadden  is  ended ;  his  spirit  is  sum 
moned  for  trial  before  a  just  God. 

The  murderer  (perhaps  we  abuse  the  word,  and  should 
apply  the  more  southern  term  of  tenconterisf),  sits  in  a 
chair,  calling  for  water,  as  a  few  among  the  crowd  prepare  to 
carry  the  dead  body  into  Graspum's  slave-pen,  a  few 
squares  below. 

Southern  sensibility  may  call  these  scenes  by  whatever 
name  it  will ;  we  have  no  desire  to  change  the  appropriate 
ness,  nor  to  lessen  the  moral  tenor  of  southern  society. 
It  nurtures  a  frail  democracy,  and  from  its  bastard  offspring 
we  have  a  tyrant  dying  by  the  hand  of  a  tyrant,  and  the 
spoils  of  tyranny  serving  the  good  growth  of  the  Christian 
church.  Money  constructs  opinions,  pious  as  well  as 
political,  and  even  changes  the  feelings  of  good  men,  who 
invoke  heaven's  aid  against  the  bondage  of  the  souls  of  men. 

Eomescos  will  not  flee  to  escape  the  terrible  award  of 
earthly  justice.  Nay,  that,  in  our  atmosphere  of  probity, 
would  be  dishonourable ;  nor  would  it  aid  the  purpose  he 
seeks  to  gain. 


• 

CHAPTEE  XXXIII. 

A  COMMON  INCIDENT  SHOKTLY  TOLD. 

THE  dead  body  of  Mr.  Lawrence  M'Fadden,  whose  heart 
was  strong  with  love  of  southern  democracy,  lies  upon 
two  pine-boards,  ghastly  and  unshrouded,  in  a  wretched 
slave-pen.  Romescos,  surrounded  by  admiring  friends,  has 
found  his  way  to  the  gaol,  where,  as  is  the  custom,  he  has 
delivered  himself  up  to  its  keeper.  He  has  spent  a  good 
night  in  that  ancient  establishment,  and  on  the  following 
morning  finds  his  friends  vastly  increased.  They  have  viewed 
him  as  rather  desperate  now  and  then ;  but,  knowing  he 
is  brave  withal,  have  "  come  to  the  rescue"  on  the  present 
occasion.  These  frequent  visits  he  receives  with  wonderful 
coolness  and  deference,  their  meats  and  drinks  (so  amply 
furnished  to  make  his  stay  comfortable)  being  a  great  God 
send  to  the  gaoler,  who,  while  they  last,  will  spread  a 
princely  table. 

Brien  Moon,  Esq. — better  known  as  the  good-natured 
coroner — has  placed  a  negro  watchman  over  the  body  of 
the  deceased,  on  which  he  proposes  to  hold  one  of  those 
curious  ceremonies  called  inquests.  Brien  Moon,  Esq.  is 
particularly  fond  of  the  ludicrous,  is  ever  ready  to  appreciate 
a  good  joke,  and  well  known  for  his  happy  mode  of  disposing 
of  dead  dogs  and  cats,  which,  with  anonymous  letters, 
are  in  great  numbers  entrusted  to  his  care  by  certain 
waggish  gentlemen,  \vho  desire  he  will  "  hold  an  inquest 
over  the  deceased,  and  not  forget  the  fees."  It  is  said — 
the  aristocracy,  however,  look  upon  the  charge  with  con 
tempt — that  Brien  Moon,  Esq.  makes  a  small  per  centage 
by  selling  those  canine  remains  to  the  governor  of  the 
workhouse,  which  very  humane  gentleman  pays  from  his  own 
pocket  the  means  of  transferring  them  into  giblet-pies  for 
the  inmates.  It  may  be  all  scandal  about  Mr.  Moon  making 
so  large  an  amount  from  his  office ;  but  it  is  nevertheless 
true  that  sad  disclosures  have  of  late  been  made  concerning 
the  internal  affairs  of  the  workhouse. 


A  COMMON  INCIDENT  SHOETLT  TOLD.  393 

The  hour  of  twelve  has  arrived ;  and  since  eight  in  the 
morning  Mr.  Moon's  time  has  been  consumed  in  preli 
minaries  necessary  to  the  organisation  of  a  coroner's  jury. 
The  reader  we  know  will  excuse  our  not  entering  into  the 
minutiae  of  the  organisation.  Eleven  jurors  have  answered 
the  summons,  but  a  twelfth  seems  difficult  to  procure. 
John,  the  good  Coroner's  negro  servant,  has  provided 
a  sufficiency  of  brandy  and  cigars,  which,  since  the  hour  of 
eleven,  have  been  discussed  without  stint.  The  only  objec 
tion  our  worthy  disposer  of  the  dead  has  to  this  is,  that 
some  of  his  jurors,  becoming  very  mellow,  may  turn  the 
inquest  into  a  farce,  with  himself  playing  the  low-comedy 
part.  The  dead  body,  which  lies  covered  with  a  sheet,  is  fast 
becoming  enveloped  in  smoke,  while  no  one  seems  to 
have  a  passing  thought  for  it.  Colonel  Tom  Edon, — who, 
they  say,  is  not  colonel  of  any  regiment,  but  has  merely 
received  the  title  from  the  known  fact  of  his  being  a  hog- 
driver,  which  honourable  profession  ia  distinguished  by  its 
colonels  proceeding  to  market  mounted,  while  the  captains 
walk, — merely  wonders  how  much  bad  whiskey  the  dead  'un 
consumed  while  he  lived. 

"This  won't  do  I"  exclaims  Brien  Moon,  Esq.,  and  pro 
ceeds  to  the  door  in  the  hope  of  catching  something  to 
make  his  mournful  number  complete.  He  happens  upon 
Mr.  Jonas  Academy,  an  honest  cracker,  from  Christ's 
parish,  who  visits  the  city  on  a  little  business.  Jonas  is 
a  person  of  great  originality,  is  enclosed  in  loosely- 
setting  homespun,  has  a  woe-begone  countenance,  and 
wears  a  large-brimmed  felt  hat.  He  is  just  the  person 
to  make  the  number  complete,  and  is  led  in,  unconscious  of 
the  object  for  which  he  finds  himself  a  captive.  Mr.  Brien 
Moon  now  becomes  wondrous  grave,  mounts  a  barrel  at 
the  head  of  the  corpse,  orders  the  negro  to  uncover  the 
body,  and  hopes  gentlemen  will  take  seats  on  the  benches 
he  has  provided  for  them,  while  he  proceeds  to  administer 
the  oath.  Three  or  four  yet  retain  their  cigars :  he  hopes 
gentlemen  will  suspend  their  smoking  during  the  inquest. 
Suddenly  it  is  found  that  seven  out  of  the  twelve  cau 
neither  read  nor  write;  and  Mr.  Jonas  Academy  makes 
known  the  sad  fact  that  he  does  not  comprehend  the  nature 
of  an  oath,  never  having  taken  such  an  article  in  his  life. 
Five  of  the  gentlemen,  who  can  read  and  write,  are  from 


394  A.  COMMON  INCIDENT  SHORTLY  TOLD. 

New  England ;  while  Mr.  Jonas  Academy  declares  poor 
folks  in  Christ's  parish  are  not  fools,  troubled  with  reading 
and  writing  knowledge.  He  has  been  told  they  have  a  thing 
called  a  college  at  Columbia ;  but  only  haristocrats  get  any 
good  of  it.  In  answer  to  a  question  from  Mr.  Moon,  he 
is  happy  to  state  that  their  parish  is  not  pestered  with  a 
schoolmaster.  "  Tes,  they  killed  the  one  we  had  more  nor 
two  years  ago,  thank  Grod !  Han't  bin  trubl'd  with  one 
o'  the  critters  since,"  he  adds,  with  unmoved  nerves.  The 
Coroner  suggests  that  in  a  matter  of  expediency  like  the 
present  it  may  be  well  to  explain  the  nature  of  an  oath ; 
and,  seeing  that  a  man  may  not  read  and  write,  and  yet 
comprehend  its  sacredness,  perhaps  it  would  be  as  well  to 
forego  the  letter  of  the  law.  "  Six  used  to  do  for  this  sort 
of  a  jury,  but  now  law  must  have  twelve,"  says  Mr.  Moon. 
Numerous  voices  assent  to  this,  and  Mr.  Moon  commences 
what  he  calls  "  an  halucidation  of  the  nature  of  an  oath." 
The  jurors  receive  this  with  great  satisfaction,  take  the  oath 
according  to  his  directions,  and  after  listening  to  the  state 
ment  of  two  competent  witnesses,  who  know  but  very 
little  about  the  affair,  are  ready  to  render  a  verdict, — "  that 
M'Fadden,  the  deceased,  came  to  his  death  by  a  stab  in  the 
left  breast,  inflicted  by  a  sharp  instrument  in  the  hand  or 
hands  of  Anthony  Romescos,  during  an  affray  commonly 
called  a  rencontre,  regarding  which  there  are  many  exte 
nuating  circumstances."  To  this  verdict  Mr.  Moon 
forthwith  bows  assent,  directs  the  removal  of  the  body,  and 
invites  the  gentlemen  jurors  to  join  him  in  another  drink, 
•which  he  does  in  compliment  to  their  distinguished  services. 
The  dead  body  will  be  removed  to  the  receiving  vault,  and 
Mr.  Moon  dismisses  his  jurors  with  many  bows  and  thanks ; 
and  nothing  more. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

THE  CHILDBEN  AEE  IMPEOVING. 

TIIKEE  years  have  rolled  round,  and  wrought  great  changes 
in  the  aspect  of  affairs.  M'Fadden  was  buried  on  his  plan 
tation,  Eomescos  was  bailed  by  Graspum,  and  took  his  trial 
at  the  'sessions  for  manslaughter.  It  was  scarcely  worth 
while  to  trouble  a  respectable  jury  with  the  paltry  case — 
and  then,  they  were  so  frequent !  We  need  scarcely  tell  the 
reader  that  he  was  honourably  acquitted,  and  borne  from 
the  court  amid  great  rejoicing.  His  crime  was  only  that  of 
murder  in  self-defence  ;  and,  as  two  tyrants  had  met,  the 
successful  had  the  advantage  of  public  opinion,  which  in  the 
slave  world  soars  high  above  law.  Eomescos  being  again 
on  the  world,  making  his  cleverness  known,  we  must  beg 
the  reader's  indulgence,  and  request  him  to  accompany  us 
while  we  return  to  the  children. 

Annette  and  Nicholas  are,  and  have  been  since  the  sale, 
the  property  of  Grraspum.  They  develope  in  size  and 
beauty — two  qualities  very  essential  in  the  man-market  of 
our  democratic  world,  the  South.  Those  beautiful  features, 
intelligence,  and  reserve,  are  much  admired  as  merchandise; 
for  southern  souls  are  not  lifted  above  this  grade  of  estimat 
ing  coloured  worth.  Annette's  cherub  face,  soft  blue  eyes, 
clear  complexion,  and  light  auburn  hair,  add  to  the  sweet 
ness  of  a  countenance  that  education  and  care  might  make 
brilliant ;  an<l  yet,  though  reared  on  Marston's  plantation, 
with  unrestricted  indulgence,  her  childish  heart  seems  an 
outpouring  of  native  goodness.  She  speaks  of  her  mother 
with  the  affection  of  one  of  maturer  years  ;  she  grieves  for 
her  return,  wonders  why  she  is  left  alone,  remembers  how 
kind  that  mother  spoke  to  her  when  she  said  good  by,  at 
the  cell  door.  How  sweet  is  the  remembrance  of  a  mother ! 
how  it  lingers,  sparkling  as  a  dewdrop,  in  a  child's  memory. 
Annette  feels  the  affliction,  but  is  too  young  to  divine  the 
cause  thereof.  She  recalls  the  many  happy  plantation 
scenes ;  they  are  bright  to  her  yet !  She  prattles  about 


306  THE  CHILDREN  ABE  IMPROVING. 

Daddy  Bob,  Harry,  Aunt  Each  el,  and  old  Sue,  now  and 
then  adding  a  solicitous  question  about  Marston.  But  she 
does  not  realise  that  he  is  her  father  ;  no,  it  was  not  her  lot 
to  bestow  a  daughter's  affection  upon  him,  and  she  is  yet  too 
young  to  comprehend  the  poison  of  slave  power.  Her  child 
like  simplicity  affords  a  touching  contrast  to  that  melancholy 
injustice  by  which  a  fair  creature  with  hopes  and  virtues 
after  God's  moulding,  pure  and  holy,  is  made  mere  mer 
chandise  for  the  slave-market. 

Annette  has  learned  to  look  upon  Nicholas  as  a  brother  ; 
but,  like  herself,  he  is  kept  from  those  of  his  own  colour  by 
some,  to  him,  unintelligible  agency.  Strange  reflections 
flit  through  her  youthful  imagination,  as  she  embraces  him 
with  a  sister's  fondness.  How  oft  she  lays  her  little  head 
upon  his  shoulder,  encircles  his  neck  with  her  fair  arm,  and 
braids  his  raven  hair  with  her  tiny  fingers  !  She  little  thinks 
how  fatal  are  those  charms  she  bears  bloomingly  into 
womanhood. 

But,  if  they  alike  increase  in  beauty  as  they  increase  in 
age,  their  dispositions  are  as  unlike  as  two  opposites  can  be 
moulded.  Nicholas  has  inherited  that  petulant  will,  un 
bending  determination,  and  lurking  love  of  avenging  wrong, 
so  peculiar  to  the  Indian  race.  To  restlessness  he  adds 
distrust  of  those  around  him ;  and  when  displeased,  is  not 
easily  reconciled.  He  is,  however,  tractable,  and  early 
evinced  an  aptitude  for  mechanical  pursuits  that  would  have 
done  credit  to  maturer  years.  Both  have  been  at  service, 
and  during  the  period  have  created  no  small  degree  of  admi 
ration — Annette  for  her  promising  personal  appearance, 
Nicholas  for  his  precocious  display  of  talent.  Both 
have  earned  their  living ;  and  now  Nicholas  is  Arrived  at  an 
age  when  his  genius  attracts  purchasers. 

Conspicuous  among  those  who  have  been  keeping  an  eye 
on  the  little  fellow,  is  Mr.  Jonathan  Grabguy,  a  master- 
builder,  largely  engaged  in  rearing  dwellings.  His  father 
was  a  builder,  and  his  mother  used  to  help  the  workmen  to 
make  Venetian  blinds.  Fortune  showered  her  smiles  upon 
their  energies,  and  brought  them  negro  property  in  great 
abundance.  Of  this  property  they  made  much  ;  the  father 
of  the  present  Mr.  Grabguy  (who  became  a  distinguished 
mayor  of  the  city)  viewing  it  peculiarly  profitable  to  use  up 
his  niggers  in  five  years.  To  this  end  he  forced  them  to 


THE  CHILDBEN  ABE  IMPBOVIKG.  397 

incessant  toil,  belabouring  them  with  a  weapon  of  raw  hide, 
to  which  he  gave  the  singular  cognomen  of  "hell-fire." 
"When  extra  punishment  was—  according  to  his  policy-T- 
necessary  to  bring  out  the  "  digs,"  he  would  lock  them  up 
in  his  cage  (a  sort  of  grated  sentry-box,  large  enough  to 
retain  the  body  in  an  upright  position),  and  when  the 
duration  of  this  punishment  was  satisfactory  to  his  feelings, 
he  would  administer  a  counter  quantity  of  stings  with  his 
"  hell-fire"  wattle.  Indeed,  the  elder  Mr.  Grabguy,  who 
afterwards  became  "  His  "Worship  the  Mayor,"  was  a 
wonderful  disciplinarian,  which  very  valuable  traits  of 
character  his  son  retains  in  all  their  purity.  His  acts 
deserve  more  specific  notice  than  we  are  at  present  able  to 
give  them,  inasmuch  as  by  them  the  safety  of  a  state  is 
frequently  endangered,  as  we  shall  show  in  the  climax. 

Our  present  Mr.  Grabguy  is  a  small  man,  somewhat 
slender  of  person,  about  five  feet  seven  inches  high,  who 
usually  dresses  in  the  habiliments  of  a  working  man,  and  is 
remarkable  for  his  quickness.  His  features  are  dark  and 
undefinable,  marked  with  that  thoughtfulness  which  applies 
only  to  the  getting  of  wordly  goods.  His  face  is  narrow 
and  careworn,  with  piercing  brown  eyes,  high  cheek  bones, 
projecting  nose  and  chin,  low  forehead,  arid  greyish  hair, 
which  he  parts  in  the  centre.  These  form  the  strongest 
index  to  his  stubborn  character ;  nevertheless  he  hopes,  ere 
long,  to  reach  the  same  distinguished  position  held  by  his 
venerable  father,  who,  peace  to  his  ashes !  is  dead. 

:'  Now,  good  neighbour  Graspum,"  says  our  Mr.  Grabguy, 
as  he  stands  in  Graspum's  warehouse  examining  a  few  prime 
fellows,  "  I've  got  a  small  amount  to  invest  in  stock,  but  I 
wants  somethin'  choice — say  two  or  three  prime  uns,  handy 
at  tools.  I  wants  somethin'  what  '11  make  mechanics.  Then 
I  wants  to  buy,"  he  continues,  deliberately,  "  a  few  smart 
young  uns,  what  have  heads  with  somethin'  in  'um,  that  ye 
can  bring  up  to  larn  things.  White  mechanics,  you  see,  are 
so  independent  now-a-days,  that  you  can't  keep  'um  under 
as  you  can  niggers. 

"I've  bin  thinkin'  'bout  tryin'  an  experiment  with  nigger 
'prentices  ;  and,  if  it  goes,  we  can  dispense  with  white  me 
chanics  entirely.  My  word  for  it,  they're  only  a  great 
nuisance  at  best.  When  you  put  'um  to  work  with  niggera 
they  don't  feel  right,  and  they  have  notions  that  our  society 


398  THE  CHILDBEN  ABE  IMPEOTIHG. 

don't  respect  'um  because  they  must  mix  with  the  black 
rascals  in  following  their  trades ;  and  this  works  its  way 
into  their  feelings  so,  that  the  best  on  'um  from  the  north 
soon  give  themselves  up  to  the  worst  dissipation.  Ah !  our 
white  mechanics  are  poor  wretches ;  there  isn't  twenty  in 
the  city  you  can  depend  on  to  keep  sober  two  days." 

"  Well,  sir,"  interrupts  Grasp  um,  with  an  air  of  great  im 
portance,  as,  with  serious  countenance,  he  stands  watching 
every  change  in  Mr.  Grabguy's  face,  at  intervals  taking  a  cur 
sory  survey  of  his  merchandise,  "can  suit  you  to  most  anything 
in  the  line.  You  understand  my  mode  of  trade,  perfectly  ?" 
He  touches  Mr.  Grabguy  on  the  arm,  significantly,  and  waits 
the  reply,  which  that  gentleman  makes  with  a  bow.  "  "Well, 
if  you  do,"  he  continues,  "you  know  the  means  and  markets 
I  have  at  my  command.  Can  sell  you  young  uns  of  any 
age,  prime  uns  of  various  qualities — from  field  hands  down 
to  watch-makers,  clergymen !"  He  always  keeps  a  good 
supply  on  hand,  and  has  the  very  best  means  of  supply.  So 
Mr.  Grabguy  makes  a  purchase  of  three  prime  men,  whom 
he  intends  to  transform  into  first-rate  mechanics.  He 
declares  he  will  not  be  troubled  hereafter  with  those  very 
miserable  white  workmen  he  is  constrained  to  import  from 
the  north.  They  are  foolish  enough  to  think  they  are  just  as 
good  as  any  body,  and  can  be  gentlemen  in  their  profession. 
They,  poor  fools  !  mistake  the  south  in  their  love  of  happy 
New  England  and  its  society,  as  they  call  it. 

Having  completed  his  bargain,  he  hesitates,  as  if  there  is 
something  more  he  would  like  to  have,  "Graspum  !"  he  says, 
"  What  for  trade  ?  can  we  strike  for  that  imp  o'  yours  at 
Mrs.  Tuttlewill's  ?"  Without  waiting  for  Graspum's  reply, 
he  adds — "  That  chap  's  goin  to  make  a  tall  bit  of  property 
one  of  these  days  !" 

"  Ought  to,"  rejoins  Graspum,  stoically ;  "he's  got  right 
good  stock  in  him."  The  man  of  business  gives  his  head  a 
knowing  shake,  and  takes  a  fresh  quid  of  tobacco.  "  Give 
that  '  sprout '  a  chance  in  the  world,  and  -he'll  show  his 
hand!"  he  adds. 

"  That's  what  I  wants,"  intimates  our  tradesman.  He 
has  had  his  eye  on  the  fellow,  and  knows  he's  got  a  head 
what  '11  make  the  very  best  kind  of  a  workman.  But  it  will 
be  necessary  to  take  the  stubborn  out  without  injuring  the 
"  larning  "  part.  Mr.  Grabguy,  with  great  unconcern,  merely 


THE  CHILDREN  ARE  IMPROVING. 

suggests  these  trifling  matters  for  the  better  regulating  of  Mr. 
Graspum's  price. 

"  Can  do  thab  easy  enough,  if  you  oiily  study  the 
difference  between  a  nigger's  hide  and  head.  Can  jmt 
welts  on  pretty  strong,  if  you  understand  the  difference 
a 'tween  the  too,"  intimates  our  man  of  business,  as  he 
places  his  thumbs  in  his  vest,  and  commences  humming  a 
tune.  Then  he  stops  suddenly,  and  working  his  face  into 
a  very  learned  contortion,  continues — "  Te  see,  Gfrabguy, 
a  man  has  to  study  the  human  natur  of  a  nigger  just  the 
same  as  he  would  a  mule  or  a  machine.  In  truth, 
Grabguy,  niggers  are  more  like  mules  nor  anything  else, 
'cause  the  brute  '11  do  everything  but  what  ye  wants  him 
to  do,  afore  he's  subdued.  You  must  break  them  when 
they  are  young.  About  ten  or  a  dozen  welts,  sir,  well 
laid  on  when  ye  first  begin,  and  every  time  he  don't  toe 
the  mark,  will,  in  the  course  of  a  year,  make  him  as 
submissive  as  a  spaniel — it  will !  The  virtue  of  submission 
is  in  the  lash,  it  supples  like  seeds." 

"About  the  stock,  Graspum  :  I  don't  quite  agree  with  you 
about  that, — I  never  believed  in  blood,  ye  know.  As  far  as 
this  imp  goes,  I  have  my  doubts  about  the  blood  doin  on 
him  much  good ;  seein'  how  it  kind  o'  comes  across  my 
mind  that  there's  some  Ingin  in  him.  Now,  if  my  phi 
losophy  serves  me  right,  Ingin  blood  makes  slave  property 
want  to  run  away  (the  speaker  spreads  himself  with  great 
nonchalance),  the  very  worst  fault." 

"  Poh  !  poh! — isn't  a  bit  o'  that  about  him.  That  imp  'a 
from  Marston's  estate,  can't  scare  up  nothin  so  promisin' 
in  the  way  of  likely  colour,"  Graspum  interposes,  with  great 
assurance  of  manner.  "You  didn't  see  the  gal — did  you  ?" 
he  concludes. 

"  I  reckon  I've  taken  a  squint  at  both  on  'em  !  Pretty  fine 
and  likely.  From  the  same  bankrupt  concern,  I  s'pose  ?" 
Mr.  Grabguy  looks  quite  serious,  and  waits  for  a  reply. 

"Yes — nothing  less,"  Graspum  replies,  measuredly.  "But 
won't  it  make  your  eye  water,  neighbour  Grabguy,  one  of 
these  days !  Bring  a  tall  price  among  some  of  our  young  bucks, 
eh.!"  He  gives  neighbour  Grabguy  a  significant  touch  on 
the  arm,  and  that  gentleman  turns  his  head  and  smiles. 
How  quaintly  modest ! 

"By  the  by,   talking  of  Marston,   what  has  become  of 


400  THE  CHILDEEH  AEE 

him  ?  His  affairs  seem  to  Have  died  out  in  the  general 
levity  which  the  number  of  such  cases  occasion.  But  I 
tell  you  what  it  is,  Graspum,  (he  whispers,  accompanying 
the  word  with  an  insinuating  look),  report  implicates  you 
in  that  affair." 

"  Me  ? — Me  ? — Me,  Sir  ?  God  bless  you  !  why,  you  really 
startle  me.  My  honour  is  above  the  world's  scandal.  Ah  ! 
if  you  only  knew  what  I've  done  for  that  man,  Marston  ; — 
that  cussed  nephew  of  his  came  within  a  feather  of  effecting 
my  ruin.  And  there  he  lies,  stubborn  as  a  door-plate, 
sweating  out  his  obstinacy  in  gaol.  Lord  bless  your  soul, 
I'm  not  to  blame,  you  know  ! — I  have  done  a  world  of  things 
for  him  ;  but  he  won't  be  advised." 

"His  creditors  think  he  has  more  money,  and  money 
being  the  upshot  of  all  his  troubles,  interposes  the  point  of 
difficulty  in  the  present  instance.  I  tell  them  he  has  no 
more  money,  but — I  know  not  why — they  doubt  the  fact  the 
more,  and  refuse  to  release  him,  on  the  ground  of  my  pur 
chasing  their  claims  at  some  ulterior  period,  as  I  did  those 
two  fifas  when  the  right  of  freedom  was  being  contested  in 
the  children.  But,  you  see,  Grabguy,  I'm  a  man  of 
standing ;  and  no  money  would  tempt  me  to  have  any 
thing  to  do  with  another  such  case.  It  was  by  a  mere 
quirk  of  law,  and  the  friendship  of  so  many  eminent  lawyers, 
that  I  secured  that  fifteen  hundred  dollars  from  M'Carstrow 
for  the  gal  what  disappeared  so  mysteriously." 

"  Graspum !"  interrupts  Mr.  Grabguy,  suddenly,  accom 
panying  his  remark  with  a  laugh,  "  you're  n  good  bit  of  a 
lawyer  when  it  comes  to  the  cross-grained.  You  tell  it  all 
on  one  side,  as  lawyers  do.  I  know  the  risk  you  run  in 
buying  the  fifas  on  which  those  children  were  attached!" 
Mr.  Grabguy  smiles,  doubtingly,  and  shakes  his  head. 

"There  are  liabilities  in  everything,"  Graspum  drawls 
out,  measuredly.  "  Pardon  me,  my  friend,  you  never  should 
found  opinion  on  suspicion.  More  than  a  dozen  times  have 
I  solicited  Marston  to  file  his  schedule,  and  take  the  benefit 
of  the  act.  However,  with  all  my  advice  and  kindness 
to  him,  he  will  not  move  a  finger  towards  his  own  release. 
Like  all  our  high-minded  Southerners,  he  is  ready  to 
maintain  a  sort  of  compound  between  dignity  and  dis 
tress,  with  which  he  will  gratify  his  feelings.  It's  all 
pride,  sir — pride ! — you  may  depend  upon  it.  (Graspum 


THE  CHILDEEN  ABE  IMPROVING.  401 

lays  his  hands  together,  and  affects  wondrous  charity). 
I  pity  such  men  from  the  very  bottom  of  ray  heart,  be 
cause  it  always  makes  me  feel  bad  when  I  think  what 
they  have  been.  Creditors,  sir,  are  very  unrelenting  ;  and 
seldom  think  that  an  honourable  man  would  suffer  the 
miseries  of  a  prison  rather  than  undergo  the  pain  of  being 
arraigned  before  an  open  court,  for  the  exposition  of  his 
poverty.  Sensitiveness  often  founds  the  charge  of  wrong. 
The  thing  is  much  misunderstood  ;  I  know  it,  sir !  Yes, 
sir!  My  own  feelings  make  me  the  best  judge,"  con 
tinues  Graspum,  with  a  most  serious  countenance.  He 
feels  he  is  a  man  of  wonderful  parts,  much  abused  by 
public  opinion,  and,  though  always  trying  to  promote 
public  good,  never  credited  for  his  many  kind  acts. 

Turning  his  head  aside  to  relieve  himself  of  a  smile, 
Mr.  Grabguy  admits  that  he  is  quite  an  abused  man  ; 
and,  setting  aside  small  matters,  thinks  it  well  to  be 
guided  by  the  good  motto : — '  retire  from  business  with 
plenty  of  money'  It  may  not  subdue  tongues,  but  it  will 
soften  whispers.  Money,  Mr.  Grrabguy  intimates,  upon  the 
strength  of  his  venerable  father's  experience,  is  a  curious 
medium  of  overcoming  the  ditchwork  of  society.  In  fact, 
he  assures  Graspum,  that  with  plenty  of  shiners  you  may 
be  just  such  a  man  as  you  please ;  everybody  will  forget 
that  you  ever  bought  or  sold  a  nigger,  and  ten  chances  to 
one  if  you  do  not  find  yourself  sloped  off  into  Congress, 
before  you  have  had  time  to  study  the  process  of  getting 
there.  But,  enough  of  this,  Grraspum ; — let  us  turn  to  trade 
matters.  What's  the  lowest  shot  ye'll  take  for  that  mellow 
mixture  of  Ingin  and  aristocracy.  Send  up  and  bring  him 
down:  let  us  hear  the  lowest  dodge  you'll  let  him 
slide  at." 

Mr.  Grabguy  evinces  an  off-handedness  in  trade  that  is 
quite  equal  to  Graspum's  keen  tact.  But  Graspum  has 
the  faculty  of  preserving  a  disinterested  appearance  sin 
gularly  at  variance  with  his  object. 

A  messenger  is  despatched,  receipt  in  hand,  for  the  boy 
Nicholas.  Mrs.Tuttlewell,a  brusque  body  of  some  sixty  years, 
and  with  thirteen  in  a  family,  having  had  three  husbands 
(all  gentlemen  of  the  highest  standing,  and  connected  with 
first  families),  keeps  a  stylish  boarding-house,  exclusively  for 
the  aristocracy,  common  people  not  being  competent  to  her 

D  D 


402  THE  CHILDSEff  ABE  IMPROVING. 

style  of  living;  and  as  nobody  could  ever  say  one  word 
against  the  Tuttlewell  family,  the  present  head  of  the  Tut- 
tlewell  house  has  become  very  fashionably  distinguished. 
The  messenger's  arrival  is  made  known  to  Mrs.  Tuttlewell, 
who  must  duly  consider  the  nature  of  the  immediate  demand. 
She  had  reason  to  expect  the  services  of  the  children  would 
have  been  at  her  command  for  some  years  to  come.  However, 
she  must  make  the  very  best  of  it ;  they  are  Grraspum's  pro 
perty,  and  he  can  do  what  he  pleases  with  them.  She 
suggests,  with  great  politeness,  that  the  messenger  take  a 
seat  in  the  lower  veranda.  Her  house  is  located  in  a  most 
fashionable  street,  and  none  knew  better  than  good  lady 
Tuttlewell  herself  the  value  of  living  up  to  a  fashionable 
nicety  ;  for,  where  slavery  exists,  it  is  a  trade  to  live. 

Both  children  have  been  "  waiting  on  table,"  and,  on  hear 
ing  the  summons,  repair  to  their  cabin  in  the  yard.  Mrs. 
Tuttlewell,  reconsidering  her  former  decision,  thinks  the 
messenger  better  follow  them,  seeing  that  he  is  a  nigger  with 
kindly  looks.  "  Uncle  !"  says  Annette,  looking  up  at  the 
old  Negro,  as  he  joins  them :  "  Don't  you  want  me  too  ?" 

"No,"  returns  the  man,  coolly,  shaking  his  head. 

"  I  think  they  must  be  going  to  take  us  back  to  the  old 
plantation,  where  Daddy  Bob  used  to  sing  so.  Then  I  shall 
see  mother  —how  I  do  want  to  see  her  !"  she  exclaims,  her 
little  heart  bounding  with  ecstasy.  Three  years  or  more 
have  passed  since  she  prattled  on  her  mother's  knee. 

The  negro  recognises  the  child's  simplicity.  "  I  on'e  wants 
dat  child  ;  but  da'h  an't  gwine  t'  lef  ye  out  on  da  planta 
tion,  nohow  !"  he  says. 

"  Not  going  to  take  us  home !"  she  says,  with  a  sigh. 
Nicholas  moodily  submits  himself  to  be  prepared,  as  Annette, 
more  vivacious,  keeps  interposing  with  various  enquiries. 
She  would  like  to  know  where  they  are  going  to  take  little 
Nicholas ;  and  when  they  will  let  her  go  and  see  Daddy 
Bob  and  mother  ?  "  Now,  you  can  take  me  ;  I  know  you 
can  !"  she  says,  looking  up  at  the  messenger,  and  taking  his 
hand  pertly. 

"  No — can't,  little  'un !  Mus'  lef  'um  fo'h  nuder  time. 
You  isn't  broder  and  sister — is  ye?" 

"  No !  "  quickly  replies  the  little  girl,  swinging  his  hand  play 
fully  ;  "  but  I  want  to  go  where  he  goes ;  I  want  to  see  mother 
•when  he  does." 


THE  CHILDREN  ARE  IMPROVING.  403 

"  Well,  den,  little  'un  (the  negro  sees  he  cannot  overcome 
the  child's  simplicity  by  any  other  means),  dis  child  will_ 
come  fo'h  'um  to-morrow — dat  I  will !" 

"And  you'll  bring  Nicholas  back — won't  you?"  she 
enquires,  grasping  the  messenger  more  firmly  by  the  hand. 

"Sartin!  no  mistake 'bout  dat,  little  'uman."  At  this 
she  takes  Nicholas  by  the  hand,  and  retires  to  their  little 
room  in  the  cabin.  Here,  like  one  of  older  years,  she 
washes  him,  and  dresses  him,  and  fusses  over  him. 

He  is  merely  a  child  for  sale ;  so  she  combs  his  little 
locks,  puts  on  his  new  osnaburgs,  arranges  his  nice  white 
collar  about  his  neck,  and  makes  him  look  so  prim.  And 
then  she  ties  a  piece  of  black  ribbon  about  his  neck,  giving 
him  the  bright  appearance  of  a  school-boy  on  examination- 
day.  The  little  girl's  feelings  seem  as  much  elated  as 
would  be  a  mother's  at  the  prospect  of  her  child  gaining 
a  medal  of  distinction. 

"  Now,  Nicholas  !"  she  whispers,  with  touching  simplicity, 
aa  she  views  him  from  head  to  foot  with  a  smile  of  exultation 
on  her  face,  "your  mother  never  dressed  you  so  neat.  But  I 
like  you  more  and  more,  Nicholas,  because  both  our  mothers 
are  gone  ;  and  maybe  we  shall  never  see  'um  again."  And 
she  kisses  him  fondly, — tells  him  not  to  stay  long, — to  tell  her 
all  he  has  seen  and  heard  about  mother,  when  he  returns. 

"  I  don't  know,  'Nette,  but  'pears  to  me  we  ain't  like 
other  children — they  don't  have  to  be  sold  so  often  ;  and  I 
don't  seem  to  have  any  father." 

"  Neither  do  I ;  but  Mrs.  Tuttlewell  says  I  mustn't 
mind  that,  because  there's  thousands  just  like  us.  And 
then  she  says  we  ain't  the  same  kind  o'  white  folks  that  she 
is ;  she  says  we  are  white,  but  niggers  for  all  that.  I  don't 
know  how  it  is  !  I'm  not  like  black  folks,  because  I'm  just 
as  white  as  any  white  folks,"  she  rejoins,  placing  her  little 
arms  round  his  neck  and  smoothing  his  hair  with  her  left 
hand. 

"  I'll  grow  up,  oneo'  these  days." 

"And  so  will  I,"  she  speaks,  boldly. 

"  And  I'm  goin'  to  know  where  my  mother's  gone,  and 
•why  I  ain't  as  good  as  other  folks'  white  children,"  he 
rejoins  sullenly,  shaking  his  head,  and  muttering  away  to 
himself.  It  is  quite  evident  that  the  many  singular  stages 
through  which  he  is  passing,  serve  only  to  increase  the 


404i  THE  CHILDREN  ABE  IMPEOYTtfG. 

stubborness  of  his  nature.  The  only  black  distinguishable 
in  his  features  are  his  eyes  and  hair ;  and,  as  he  looks  in  the 
•glass  to  confirm  what  he  has  said,  Annette  takes  him  by  the 
hand,  tells  him  he  must  not  mind,  now ;  that  if  he  is  good 
he  shall  see  Franconia, — and  mother,  too,  one  of  these  days. 
He  must  not  be  pettish,  she  remarks,  holding  him  by  the 
hand  like  a  sister  whose  heart  glows  with  hope  for  a 
brother's  welfare.  She  gives  him  in  charge  of  the  messenger, 
saying,  "Good  by!"  as  she  imprints  a  kiss  on  his  cheek, 
its  olive  hues  changing  into  deep  crimson. 

The  negro  answers  her  adieu  with  "  Good  by,  little  dear ! 
God  bless  'um !"  Nay,  the  native  goodness  of  his  heart 
will  not  permit  him  to  leave  her  thus.  He  turns  round, 
takes  her  in  his  arms,  kisses  and  kisses  her  fair  cheek.  It 
is  the  truth  of  an  honest  soul,  expressed  with  tears  glistening 
in  his  eyes.  Again  taking  Nicholas  by  the  hand,  he 
hastens  through  the  passage  of  Mrs.  TuttlewelPs  house 
where,  on  emerging  into  the  street,  he  is  accosted  by  that 
very  fashionable  lady,  who  desires  to  know  if  he  has 
got  the  boy  "all  right!"  Being  answered  in  the  affir 
mative,  she  gives  a  very  dignified — "  Glad  of  it,"  and 
desires  her  compliments  to  Mr.  Graspum,  who  she 
hopes  will  extend  the  same  special  regards  to  his 
family,  and  retires  to  the  quietude  of  her  richly-furnished 
parlour. 

The  gentleman  dealer  and  his  customer  are  waiting  in 
the  man  shambles,  while  the  negro  messenger  with  his  boy 
article  of  trade  plod  their  way  along  through  the  busy 

streets.     The  negro  looks   on  his  charge  with  a  smile  of 

congratulation.  "  Mas'r  '11  laugh  all  over  'e  clothes  when  he 

sees  ye — dat  he  will !"  he  says,  with  an  air  of  exultation. 
"  I'd  like  to  know  where  I'm  goin'  to  afore  I  go  much* 

further,"    returns  the   boy,   curtly,    as    he  walks    along, 

every  few  minutes  asking  unanswerable  questions  of  the 

negro. 

"  Lor,   child !"    returns  the    negro,   with  a   significant 

smile,   "  take    ye   down    to   old  massa  what    own   <'um ! 

Fo'h  true !" 

"  Own  me !"    mutters    the   child,  surlily.     "  How  can 

they  own  me  without  owning  my  mother  ? — and  I've  no 

father." 

"White  man  great  'losipher;  he  know  so   much,   dat 


THE  CHILDBEJf  ABB  IMPBOYING.  405 

nigger  don't  know  nofin,"  is  the  singularly  significant 
answer. 

"  But  God  didn't  make  me  for  a  nigger, — did  he  ?" 

"  Don1  know  how  dat  is,  child.  'Pears  like  old  mas'r 
tink  da'  ain't  no  God ;  and  what  he  sees  in  yander  good 
book  lef  'um  do  just  as  'e  mind  to  wid  nigger.  Sometimes 
Buckra  sell  nigger  by  de  pound,  just  like  'e  sell  pig  ;  and 
den  'e  say  't  was  wid  de  Lord's  will." 

"  If  mas'r  Lord  be  what  Buckra  say  he  be,  dis  child  don' 
want  t'  be  'quainted  wid  'um,"  he  coolly  dilates,  as  if  he 
foresees  the  mournful  result  of  the  child's  bright 
endowments. 

The  negro  tries  to  quiet  the  child's  apprehensions  by 
telling  him  he  thinks  "  Buckra,  what's  waiting  down  in  da'h 
office,  gwine  t'  buy  'um  of  old  mas'r.  Know  dat  Buckra ! 
he  sharp  feller.  Get  e'  eye  on  ye,  and  make  up  'e  mind 
what  'e  gwine  to  give  fo'h  'um,  quicker!"  says  the  negro. 

Graspum  has  invited  his  customer,  Mr.  Grabguy,  into  his 
more  comfortable  counting-room,  where,  as  Nicholas  is  led 
in,  they  may  be  found  discussing  the  rights  of  the  south,  as 
guaranteed  by  the  federal  constitution.  The  south  claim 
rights  independent  of  the  north ;  and  those  rights  are  to 
secede  from  the  wrongs  of  the  north  whenever  she  takes 
into  her  head  the  very  simple  notion  of  carrying  them  out. 
Graspum,  a  man  of  great  experience,  whose  keen  sense  of 
justice  is  made  keener  by  his  sense  of  practical  injustice, — 
thinks  the  democracy  of  the  south  was  never  fully  under 
stood,  and  that  the  most  sure  way  of  developing  its  great 
principles  is  by  hanging  every  northerner,  whose  abolition 
mania  is  fast  absorbing  the  liberties  of  the  country  at  large. 

"That's  the  feller!"  says  Mr.  Grabguy,  as  the  negro 
leads  Nicholas  into  his  presence,  and  orders  him  to  keep 
his  hands  down  while  the  gentleman  looks  at  him.  "  Stub 
born  sticks  out  some,  though,  I  reckon,"  Mr.  Grabguy  adds, 
rather  enthusiastically.  "  Absalom  !  Isaac  !  Joe !  eh  ? 
what's  your  name  ?" 

"  He's  a  trump  !"  interposes  Graspum,  rubbing  his  hands 
together,  and  giving  his  head  a  significant  shake. 

"  Nicholas,  they  call  me,  master,"  answers  the  boy, 
pettishly. 

Mr.  Grabguy  takes  him  by  the  arms,  feels  his  muscle 
with  great  care  and  caution,  tries  the  elasticity  of  his  body 


406  THE  CHILDREN  ARE  IMPROVING. 

by  lifting  him  from  the  floor  by  his  two  ears.  This  ig  too 
much,  which  the  child  announces  with  loud  screams.  "  Stuff! 
out  and  out,"  says  Mr.  Grabguy,  patting  him  on  the  back, 
in  a  kind  sort  of  way.  At  the  same  time  he  gives  a  look  of 
satisfaction  at  Graspum. 

"  Everything  a  man  wants,  in  that  yaller  skin,"  returns 
that  methodical  tradesman,  with  a  gracious  nod. 

"  Black  lightnin'  eyes  — long  wiry  black  hair,  a  skin  full 
of  Ingin  devil,  and  a  face  full  of  stubborn,"  Mr.  Grrabguy 
discourses,  as  he  contemplates  the  article  before  him. 

"  "Well,  now,  about  the  lowest  figure  for  him  ?' '  he  con 
tinues,  again  looking  at  Graspum,  and  waiting  his  reply. 
That  gentleman,  drawing  his  right  hand  across  his  mouth, 
relieves  it  of  the  virtueless  deposit,  and  supplies  it  with  a 
fresh  quid. 

"  Sit  down,  neighbour  Grabguy,"  he  says,  placing  a  chair 
beside  him.  They  both  sit  down ;  the  negro  attendant 
stands  a  few  feet  behind  them  :  the  boy  may  walk  a  line 
backward  and  forward.  "  Say  the  word !  You  know  I'll 
have  a  deal  o' trouble  afore  breaking  the  feller  in,"  Grabguy 
exclaims,  impatiently. 

Graspum  is  invoking  his  philosophy.  He  will  gauge  the 
point  of  value  according  to  the  coming  prospect  and  Mr. 
Grabguy's  wants.  "  "Well,  now,  seeing  it's  you,  and  taking 
the  large  amount  of  negro  property  I  have  sold  to  your 
distinguished  father  into  consideration — I  hope  to  sell  forty 
thousand  niggers  yet,  before  I  die — he  should  bring  six 
hundred."  Graspum  lays  his  left  hand  modestly  on  Mr. 
Grabguy's  right  arm,  as  that  gentleman  rather  starts  with 
surprise.  "  Take  the  extraordinary  qualities  into  conside 
ration,  my  friend ;  he's  got  a  head  what's  worth  two 
hundred  dollars  more  nor  a  common  nigger, — that  is,  if  you 
be  going  to  turn  it  into  knowledge  profit.  But  that  wasn't 
just  what  I  was  going  to  say  (Graspum  becomes  profound, 
as  he  spreads  himself  back  in  his  chair).  I  was  going  to 
say,  I'd  let  you — you  mustn't  whisper  it,  though — have  him 
for  five  hundred  and  twenty  ;  and  he's  as  cheap  at  that  as 
bull-dogs  at  five  dollars." 

Grabguy  shakes  his  head :  he  thinks  the  price  rather 
beyond  his  mark.  He,  however,  has  no  objection  to  chalking 
on  the  figure ;  and  as  both  are  good  democrats,  they  will 
split  the  difference. 


THE  CHILDBEN  AEE  IMPROVING.  407 

Graspum,  smiling,  touches  his  customer  significantly  with 
his  elbow.  "  I  never  do  business  after  that  model,"  he  says. 

"  Speaking  of  bull-dogs,  why,  Lord  bless  your  soul,  bam 
Beals  and  me  traded  t'other  day  :  I  gin  him  a  young  five- 
year  old  nigger  for  his  hound,  and  two  hundred  dollars 
to  boot.  Can't  go  five  hundred  and  twenty  for  that  imp, 
nohow  !  Could  o'  got  a  prime  nigger  for  that,  two  years  ago." 

"  Wouldn't  lower  a  fraction !  He's  extraordinary  prime, 
and'll  increase  fifty  dollars  a  year  every  year  for  ten  years 
or  more." 

Mr.  Grabguy  can't  help  that :  he  is  merely  in  search  of 
an  article  capable  of  being  turned  into  a  mechanic,  or 
professional  man, — anything  to  suib  the  exigencies  of  a  free 
country,  in  which  such  things  are  sold.  And  as  it  will 
require  much  time  to  get  the  article  to  a  point  where  it'll 
bo  sure  to  turn  the  pennies  back,  perhaps  he'd  as  well  let 
it  alone :  so  he  turns  the  matter  over  in  his  head.  And 
yet,  there  is  a  certain  something  about  the  "young  imp" 
that  really  fascinates  him  ;  his  keen  eye,  and  deep  sense  of 
nigger  natur'  value,  detect  the  wonderful  promise  the 
article  holds  forth. 

"  Not  one  cent  lower  would  I  take  for  that  chap.  In  fact, 
I  almost  feel  like  recanting  now,"  says  Graspum,  by  way  of  . 
breaking  the  monotony. 

"  Well,  I'll  bid  you  good  day,"  says  the  other,  in  return, 
affecting  preparation  to  leave.  He  puts  out  his  hand  to 
Graspum,  and  with  a  serious  look  desires  to  know  if  that 
be  the  lowest  figure. 

"  Fact !  Don't  care  'bout  selling  at  that.  Couldn't 
have  a  better  investment  than  to  keep  him !" 

Mr.  Grabguy  considers  and  reconsiders  the  matter  over 
in  his  mind ;  paces  up  and  down  the  floor  several  times, 
commences  humming  a  tune,  steps  to  the  door,  looks  up  and 
down  the  street,  and  says,  "  Well,  I'll  be  moving  homeward, 
I  will." 

"  Like  yer  custom,  that  I  do ;  but  then,  knowing  what 
I  can  do  with  the  fellow,  I  feels  stiff  about  letting  him  go," 
interposes  Graspum,  with  great  indifference,  following  to 
the  door,  with  hands  extended. 

This  is  rather  too  insinuating  for  Mr.  Grabguy.  Never 
did  piece  of  property  loom  up  so  brightly,  so  physically 
and  intellectually  valuable.  He  will  return  to  the  table 


408  THE  CHILDREN  ARE  IMPROVING. 

Taking  his  seat  again,  he  draws  forth  a  piece  of  paper,  and 
with  his  pencil  commences  figuring  upon  it.  He  wants  to 
get  at  the  cost  of  free  and  slave  labour,  and  the  relative 
advantages  of  the  one  over  the  other.  After  a  deal  of 
multiplying  and  subtracting,  he  sives  it  up  in  despair.  The 
fine  proportions  of  the  youth  before  him  distract  his  very 
brain  with  contemplation.  He  won't  bother  another  minute ; 
figures  are  only  confusions  :  so  far  as  using  them  to  com 
pute  the  relative  value  of  free  and  slave  labour,  they  are 
enough  to  make  one's  head  ache.  "  Would  ye  like  to  go 
with  me,  boy  ?  Give  ye  enough  to  eat,  but  make  ye  toe 
the  mark!"  He  looks  at  Nicholas,  and  waits  a  reply. 

"  Don't  matter !"  is  the  boy's  answer.  "  Seems  as  if 
nobody  cared  for  me;  and  so  I  don't  care  for  nobody." 

"That's  enough,"  he  interrupts,  turning  to  Graspum: 
"  there's  a  showing  of  grit  in  that,  eh  ?" 

"  Soon  take  it  out,"  rejoins  that  methodical  gentleman. 
"  Anyhow,  I've  a  mind  to  try  the  fellow,  Graspum.  I  feel 
the  risk  I  run  ;  but  I  don't  mind — it's  neck  or  nothin  here 
in  the  south !  Te'll  take  a  long  note,  s'pose  ?  Good,  ye 
know!" 

Graspum  motions  his  head  and  works  his  lips,  half 
affirmatively. 

"  Good  as  old  gold,  ye  knows  that,"  insinuates  Mr. 
Grabguy. 

"  Yes,  but  notes  aint  cash ;  and  our  banks  are  shut 
down  as  tight  as  steel  traps.  At  all  events  make  it  bank 
able,  and  add  the  interest  for  six  months.  It's  against  my 
rules  of  business,  though,"  returns  Graspum,  with  great 
financial  emphasis. 

After  considerably  more  very  nice  exhibitions  of  business 
tact,  it  is  agreed  that  Mr.  Grabguy  takes  the  "  imp"  at  five 
hundred  and  twenty  dollars,  for  which  Graspum  accepts 
his  note  at  six  months,  with  interest.  Mr.  Grabguy's  paper 
is  good,  and  Graspum  considers  it  equal  to  cash,  less  the 
interest.  The  "imp"  is  now  left  in  charge  of  the  negro, 
while  the  two  gentlemen  retire  to  the  private  counting- 
room,  where  they  will  settle  the  preliminaries. 

A  grave-looking  gentleman  at  a  large  desk  is  ordered  to 
make  the  entry  of  sale ;  as  the  initiate  of  which  he  takes  a 
ponderous  ledger  from  the  case,  and,  with  great  coolness, 
opens  its  large  leaves.  "  Nicholas,  I  think  his  name  is?" 


THE  CHILDREN  ABE  IMPROVING.  409 

he  ejaculates,  turning  to  Grraspum,  who,  unconcernedly,  has 
resumed  his  seat  in  the  great  arm-chair. 

"  Yes  ;  but  I  suppose  it  must  be  Nicholas  Grabguy,  now," 
returns  Graspum,  bowing  to  his  book-keeper,  and  then 
turning  to  Mr.  Grrabguy. 

"  One  minute,  if  you  please !"  rejoins  that  gentlemen,  as 
the  sedate  book-keeper  turns  to  his  page  of  N's  in  the 
index.  Mr.  Grabguy  will  consider  that  very  important  point 
for  a  few  seconds. 

"  Better  drop  the  Marston,  as  things  are.  A  good  many 
high  feeling  connections  of  that  family  remain ;  and  to 
continue  the  name  might  be  to  give  pain."  This,  Grraspum 
says,  he  only  puts  out  as  a  suggestion. 

"  Enter  him  as  you  say,  gentlemen,"  interposes  the  clerk, 
who  will  mend  his  pen  while  waiting  their  pleasure. 

Mr.  Grabguy  runs  his  right  hand  several  times  across  his 
forehead,  and  after  a  breathless  pause,  thinks  it  as  well  not 
to  connect  his  distinguished  name  with  that  of  the  nigger, — 
not  just  at  this  moment !  Being  his  property,  and  associ 
ating  with  his  business  and  people,  that  will  naturally 
follow.  "  Just  enter  him,  and  make  out  the  bill  of  sale 
describing  him  as  the  boy  Nicholas,"  he  adds. 

"  Boy  Nicholas  !"  reiterates  the  book-keeper,  and  straight 
way  enters  his  name,  amount  fetched,  to  whom  sold,  and 
general  description,  on  his  files.  In  a  few  minutes  more — 
Grraspum,  in  his  chair  of  state,  is  regretting  having  sold  so 
quickj  —Mr.  Grabguy  is  handed  his  bill  of  sale,  duly  made 
out.  At  the  same  time,  that  sedate  official  places  the  note 
for  the  amount  into  Graspum's  hands.  Graspum  examines 
it  minutely,  while  Mr.  Grabguy  surveys  the  bill  of  sale. 
"  Mr.  Benson,  my  clerk  here,  does  these  things  up  according 
to  legal  tenour ;  he,  let  me  inform  you,  was  brought  up  at 
the  law  business,  and  was  rather  celebrated  once  ;  but  the 
profession  won't  pay  a  man  of  his  ability,"  remarks  Graspum, 
with  an  "  all  right !"  as  he  lays  the  note  of  hand  down  for 
Mr.  Grabguy 's  signature. 

Mr.  Benson  smiles  in  reply,  and  adjusts  the  very  stiffly 
starched  corners  of  his  ponderous  shirt  collar,  which  he 
desires  to  keep  well  closed  around  his  chin.  "  An  honourable 
man,  that's  true,  sir,  can't  live  honestly  by  the  law,  now- 
a-days,"  he  concludes,  with  measured  sedateness.  He  will 


4(10  THE  CHILDREN  ABE  IMPROVING. 

now  get  his  bill-book,  in  which  to  make  a  record  of  the 
piece  of  paper  taken  in  exchange  for  the  human  '  imp.' 

"  Clap  your  name  across  the  face!"  demands  Graspum; 
and  Grabguy  seizes  a  pen,  and  quickly  consummates  the 
bargain  by  inscribing  his  name,  passing  it  to  Mr.  Benson, 
and,  in  return,  receiving  the  bill  of  sale,  which  he  places  in 
his  breast  pocket.  He  will  not  trouble  Mr.  Benson  any 
further;  but,  if  he  will  supply  a  small  piece  of  paper, 
Mr.  Grabguy  will  very  kindly  give  the  imp  an  order,  and 
send  him  to  his  workshop. 

"Will  the  gentleman  be  kind  enough  to  help  himself," 
says  Mr.  Benson,  passing  a  quire  upon  the  table  at  which 
Mr.  Grabguy  sits. 

"I'll  trim  that  chap  into  a  first-rate  mechanic,"  says 
Mr.  Grabguy,  as  he  writes, — "  I  have  bought  the  bearer, 
Nicholas,  a  promising  chap,  as  you  will  see.  Take  him 
into  the  shop  and  set  him  at  something,  if  it  is  only 
turning  the  grindstone  ;  as  I  hav'nt  made  up  my  mind 
exactly  about  what  branch  to  set  him  at.  He's  got  temper — 
you'll  see  that  in  a  minute,  and  will  want  some  breakin  in, 
if  I  don't  calklate  'rong."  This  Mr.  Grabguy  envelopes, 
and  directs  to  his  master  mechanic.  When  all  things  are 
arranged  to  his  satisfaction,  Nicholas  is  again  brought  into 
his  presence,  receives  an  admonition,  is  told  what  he  may 
expect  if  he  displays  his  bad  temper,  is  presented  with  the 
note,  and  despatched,  with  sundry  directions,  to  seek  his 
way  alone,  to  his  late  purchaser's  workshop. 

"  Come,  boy !  ain't  you  going  to  say  '  good-by'  to  me 
'afore  you  go  ?  I  hav'nt  been  a  bad  master  to  you,"  says 
Graspum,  putting  out  his  hand. 

"Yes,  master,"  mutters  the  child,  turning  about  ere  he 
reaches  the  door.  He  advances  towards  Graspum,  puts 
out  his  little  hand  ;  and  in  saying  "  good  by,  master,"  there 
is  so  much  childish  simplicity  in  his  manner  that  it  touches 
the  tender  chord  embalmed  within  that  iron  frame.  "  Be 
a  good  little  fellow !"  he  says,  his  emotions  rising.  How 
strong  are  the  workings  of  nature  when  brought  in  contact 
with  unnatural  laws  !  The  monster  who  has  made  the  child 
wretched — who  has  for  ever  blasted  its  hopes,  shakes  it  by 
the  hand,  and  says — "  good  by,  little  'un  !"  as  it  leaves  the 
door  to  seek  the  home  of  a  new  purchaser.  How  strange 


THE  CHILDREN  ARE  IMPROVING.  411 

the  thoughts  invading  that  child's  mind,  as,  a  slave  for  life,  it 
plods  its  way  through  the  bnsy  thoroughfares !  Forcibly  the 
happy  incidents  of  the  past  are  recalled ;  they  are  touching  rec- 
lections — sweets  in  the  dark  void  of  a  slave's  life  ;  but  to  him 
no  way-marks,  to  measure  the  happy  home  embalmed  therein, 
are  left. 

27 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

WORKINGS  OF  THS  SLAVE  SYSTEM. 

DEMOCRACY  !  thy  trumpet  voice  for  liberty  is  ever  ringing 
in  our  ears  ;  but  thy  strange  workings  defame  thcc.  Thou 
art  rampant  in  love  of  the  "  popular  cause,"  crushing  of  that 
which  secures  liberty  to  all ;  and,  whilst  thou  art  great  at 
demolishing  structures,  building  firm  foundations  seems 
beyond  thee,  for  thereto  thou  forgetteth  to  lay  the  corner 
stone  well  on  the  solid  rock  of  principle.  And,  too,  we  love 
thee  when  thou  art  moved  and  governed  by  justice  ;  we  hate 
thee  when  thou  showest  thyself  a  sycophant  to  make  a  mad 
mob  serve  a  pestilential  ambition.  Like  a  young  giant  thou 
graspest  power ;  but,  when  in  thy  hands,  it  becomes  a 
means  of  serving  the  baser  ends  of  factious  demagogues. 
Hypocrite  !  "With  breath  of  poison  thou  hast  sung  thy  songs 
to  liberty  while  making  it  a  stepping-stone  to  injustice ; 
nor  hast  thou  ever  ceased  to  wage  a  tyrant's  war  against  the 
rights  of  man.  Thou  wearest  false  robes  ;  thou  blasphemest 
against  heaven,  that  thy  strength  in  wrong  may  be  secure — 
yea,  we  fear  thy  end  is  fast  coming  badly,  for  thou  art  the 
bastard  offspring  of  .Republicanism  so  purely  planted  in  our 
land.  Clamour  and  the  lash  arc  thy  sceptres,  and,  like  a 
viper  seeking  its  prey,  thou  charmest  with  one  and  goadeth 
men's  souls  with  the  other.  Having  worked  thy  way 
through  our  simple  narrative,  show  us  what  thou  hast  done. 
A  father  hast  thou  driven  within  the  humid  wall  of  a  prison, 
because  he  would  repent  and  acknowledge  his  child.  Bolts 
and  bars,  in  such  cases,  are  democracy's  safeguards  ;  but  thou 
hast  bound  with  heavy  chains  the  being  who  would  rise  in 
the  world,  and  go  forth  healing'the  sick  and  preaching  God's 
word.  Even  hast  thou  turned  the  hearts  of  men  into  stone, 
and  made  them  weep  at  the  wrong  thou  gavest  them  power 
to  inflict.  That  bond  which  G-od  gave  to  man,  and 
charged  him  to  keep  sacred,  thou  hast  sundered  for  the 
sake  of  gold, — thereby  levelling  man  with  the  brutes  of  the 
field.  Thou  hast  sent  two  beautiful  children  to  linger  in  the 


We  left  the  stolen  clergyman  on  the 
banks  of  the  Mississippi,  where,  hav 
ing  purchased  his  time  of  his  owner, 
he  is  not  only  a  very  profitable  in 
vestment,  but  of  great  service  to  the  f. 
neighboring  plantations.  Mr.  Rose- 
brook  succeeded  in  purchasing  Harry 
for  fourteen  hundred  dollars,  and  re 
turned  with  him  to  his  plantation. 


ROSEBROOK  RETURNS  WITH  HARRY  FROM  MAJOR  WILEY'S. 


WORKINGS  OF  THE  SLAVE  SYSTEM.  413 

wickedness  of  slavery, — to  die  stained  with  its  infamy !  Thou 
hast  robbed  many  a  fair  one  of  her  virtue,  stolen  many  a 
charm  ;  but  thy  foulest  crime  is,  that  thou  drivest  mothers 
and  fathers  from  the  land  of  their  birth  to  seek  shelter  on 
foreign  soil.  Would  to  God  thou  could'st  see  thyself  as 
thou  art, — make  thy  teachings  known  in  truth  and  justice, 
— cease  to  mock  thyself  in  the  eyes  of  foreign  tyrants, 
•nor  longer  serve  despots  who  would  make  thee  the  shield  of 
their  ill-gotten  power ! 

Within  those  malarious  prison  walls,  where  fast  decays  a 
father  who  sought  to  save  from  slavery's  death  the  offspring 
he  loved,  will  be  found  a  poor,  dejected  negro,  sitting  at  the 
bedside  of  the  oppressed  man,  administering  to  his  wants. 
His  friendship  is  true  unto  death,— the  oppressed  man  is  hia 
angel,  he  will  serve  him  at  the  sacrifice  of  life  and  liberty. 
He  is  your  true  republican,  the  friend  of  the  oppressed! 
Your  lessons  of  democracy,  so  swelling,  so  boastfully 
arrayed  for  a  world's  good,  have  no  place  in  his  soul, — 
goodness  alone  directs  his  examples  of  republicanism.  But 
we  milst  not  be  over  venturous  in  calling  democracy  to 
account,  lest  we  offend  the  gods  of  power  and  progress. 
We  will,  to  save  ourselves,  return  to  our  narrative. 

Marston,  yet  in  gaol,  stubbornly  refuses  to  take  the 
benefit  of  the  act, — commonly  called  the  poor  debtor's  act. 
He  has  a  faithful  friend  in  Daddy  Bob,  who  has  kept 
his  ownership  concealed,  and,  with  the  assistance  of  Fran- 
conia,  still  relieves  his  necessities.  Humour,  however, 
strongly  whispers  that  Colonel  M'Carstrow  is  fast  gambling 
away  his  property,  keeping  the  worst  of  company,  and 
leading  the  life  of  a  debauchee, — which  sorely  grieves  his 
noble-hearted  wife.  In  fact,  Mrs.  Templeton,  who  is 
chief  gossip-monger  of  the  city,  declares  that  he  is  more 
than  ruined,  and  that  his  once  beautiful  wife  must  seek 
support  at  something. 

An  honest  jury  of  twelve  free  and  enlightened  citizens, 
before  the  honourable  court  of  Sessions,  have  declared 
Romescos  honourably  acquitted  of  the  charge  of  murder, 
the  fatal  blow  being  given  in  commendable  self-defence. 

The  reader  will  remember  that  in  a  former  chapter  we 
left  the  stolen  clergyman  (no  thanks  to  his  white  face  and 
whiter  necked  brethren  of  the  profession),  on  the  banks  of 
the  Mississippi,  where,  having  purchased  his  time  of  hia 


414  WORKINGS  OF  THE  SLAVE  SYSTEM. 

owner,  lie  is  not  only  a  very  profitable  investment  to  that 
gentleman,  but  of  great  service  on  the  neighbouring  plan 
tations.  Earnest  in  doing  good  for  his  fellow  bondmen,  his 
efforts  have  enlisted  for  him  the  sympathy  of  a  generous- 
hearted  young  lady,  the  daughter  of  a  neighbouring 
planter.  Many  #mes  had  he  recounted  Mrs.  Rosebrook's 
friendship  for  him  to  her,  and  by  its  influence  succeeded 
in  opening  the  desired  communication.  Mrs.  Rosebrook 
had  received  and  promptly  answered  all  his  fair  friend's 
letters :  the  answers  contained  good  news  for  Harry ;  she 
knew  him  well,  and  would  at  once  set  about  inducing  her 
husband  to  purchase  him.  But  here  again  his  profession 
interposed  a  difficulty,  inasmuch  as  its  enhancing  the  value 
of  the  property  to  so  great  an  extent  would  make  his  master 
reluctant  to  part  with  him.  However,  as  nothing  could  be 
more  expressive  of  domestic  attachment  than  the  manner  in 
which  the  Rosebrooks  studied  each  other's  feelings  for  the 
purpose  of  giving  a  more  complete  happiness,  our  good  lady 
had  but  to  make  known  her  wish,  and  the  deacon  stood  ready 
to  execute  it.  In  the  present  case  he  was  but  too  glad 
of  the  opportunity  of  gratifying  her  feelings,  having  had 
the  purchase  of  a  clergyman  in  contemplation  for  some 
months  back.  He  sought  Harry  out,  and,  after  bartering 
(the  planter  setting  forth  what  a  deal  of  money  he  had  made 
by  his  clergyman)  succeeded  in  purchasing  him  for  four 
teen  hundred  dollars,  the  gentleman  producing  legalised 
papers  of  his  purchase,  and  giving  the  same.  As  for  his 
running  away,  there  is  no  evidence  to  prove  that ;  nor  will 
Harry's  pious  word  be  taken  in  law  to  disclose  the  kid 
napping.  M'Fadden  is  dead, — his  estate  has  long  since  been 
administered  upon ;  Eomescos  murdered  the  proof,  and 
swept  away  the  dangerous  contingency. 

Here,  then,  we  find  Harry—- we  must  pass  over  the 
incidents  of  his  return  back  in  the  old  district — about  to 
administer  the  Gospel  to  the  negroes  on  the  Rosebrook 
estates.  He  is  the  same  good,  generous-hearted  black 
man  he  was  years  ago.  But  he  has  worked  hard,  paid  his 
master  a  deal  of  money  for  his  time,  and  laid  up  but  little 
for  himself.  His  clothes,  teo,  are  somewhat  shabby,  which, 
in  the  estimation  of  the  Rosebrook  negroes — who  are 
notoriously  aristocratic  in  their  notions — is  some  detriment 
to  his  ministerial  character.  At  the  same  time,  they  are 


WORKINGS  OF  THE  SLAVE  SYSTEM.  415 

not  quite  sure  that  Harry  Marston,  as  he  must  now  be 
called,  will  preach  to  please  their  peculiar  mode  of  thinking. 
Master  and  missus  have  given  them  an  interest  in  their 
labour ;  aud,  having  laid  by  a  little  money  in  missus's 
sa7ings  bank,  they  are  all  looking  forward  to  the  time  when 
they  will  have  gained  their  freedom,  according  to  the  pro 
mises  held  out.  With  these  incitements  of  renewed  energy 
they  work  cheerfully,  take  a  deep  interest  in  the  amount  of 
crop  produced,  and  have  a  worthy  regard  for  their  own 
moral  condition.  Ajid  as  they  will  now  pay  tribute  for  the 
support  of  a  minister  of  the  Grospel,  his  respectability  is  a 
particular  object  of  their  watchfulness.  Thus,  Harry's  first 
appearance  on  the  plantation,  shabbily  dressed,  is  viewed 
with  distrust.  Uncle  Bradshaw,  and  old  Bill,  the  coachman, 
and  Aunt  Sophy,  and  Sophy's  two  gals,  and  their  husbands, 
are  heard  in  serious  conclave  to  say  that  "  It  won't  do!" 
A  clergy  gentleman,  with  no  better  clothes  than  that  new 
comer  wears,  can't  preach  good  and  strong,  nohow !  Dad 
Daniel  is  heard  to  say.  Bradshaw  shakes  his  white  head, 
and  says  he's  goin'  to  have  a  short  talk  with  master  about 
it.  Something  must  be  done  to  reconcile  the  matter. 

Franconia  and  good  Mrs.  Eosebrook  are  not  so  exacting  : 
the  latter  has  received  him  with  a  warm  welcome,  while  the 
former,  her  heart  bounding  with  joy  on  hearing  of  his 
return,  hastened  into  his  presence,  and  with  the  affection  of 
a  child  shook,  aud  shook,  and  shook  his  hand,  as  he  fell  on 
his  knees  and  kissed  hers.  "  Poor  Harry !"  she  says,  "  how 
I  have  longed  to  see  you,  and  your  poor  wife  and  children!" 

"  Ah,  Franconia,  my  young  missus,  it  is  for  them  my  soul 
fears." 

"  But  we  have  found  out  where  they  are,"  she  interrupts. 

""Where  they  are!"  he  reiterates. 

"  Indeed  we  have !"  Franconia  makes  a  significant  motion 
with  her  head. 

"  It's  true,  Harry ;  and  we'll  see  what  can  be  done  to  get 
them  back,  one  of  these  days,"  adds  Mrs.  Eosebrook,  her 
soul-glowing  eyes  affirming  the  truth  of  her  assertion. 
They  have  come  out  to  spend  the  day  at  the  plantation,  and 
a  happy  day  it  is  for  those  whose  hearts  they  gladden  with 
their  kind  words.  How  happy  would  be  our  south — how 
desolate  the  mania  for  abolition — if  such  a  comity  of  good 
feeling  between  master  and  slaves  existed  on  every  planta- 


416  WORKINGS  OF  THE  SLAVE  SYSTEM. 

tion  !     And  there  is  nothing  to  hinder  such  happy  results 
of  kindness. 

"  When  that  day  comes,  missus, — that  day  my  good  old 
woman  and  me  will  be  together  again, — how  happy  I  shall  be ! 
Seems  as  if  the  regaining  that  one  object  would  complete  my 
earthly  desires.  And  my  children, — how  much  I  have  felt 
for  them,  and  how  little  I  have  said!"  returns  Harry,  as, 
seated  in  the  veranda  of  the  plantation  mansion,  the  two 
ladies  near  him  are  watching  his  rising  emotions. 

"  Never  mind,  Harry,"  rejoins  Franeonia ;  "  it  will  all  be 
well,  one  of  these  days.  You,  as  well  as  uncle,  must  bear 
with  trouble.  It  is  a  world  of  trouble  and  trial."  She 
draws  her  chair  nearer  him,  and  listens  to  his  narrative  of 
being  carried  off,  —his  endeavours  to  please  his  strange 
master  down  in  Mississippi, — the  curious  manner  in  \vhich 
his  name  was  changed, — the  sum  he  was  compelled  to  pay 
for  his  time,  and  the  good  he  effected  while  pursuing  the 
object  of  his  mission  on  the  neighbouring  plantations. 
Hope  carried  him  through  every  trial, — hope  prepared  his 
heart  for  the  time  of  his  delivery, — hope  filled  his  soul 
with  gratitude  to  his  Maker,  and  hope,  which  ever  held 
its  light  of  freedom  before  him,  inspired  him  with  that 
prayer  he  so  thankfully  bestowed  ou  the  head  of  his  bene 
factor,  whose  presence  was  as  the  light  of  love  borne  to  him 
on  angels'  wiugs. 

Moved  to  tears  by  his  recital  of  past  struggles,  and  the 
expression  of  natural  goodness  exhibited  in  the  resignation 
with  which  he  bore  them,  ever  praying  and  trusting  to  Him 
who  guides  our  course  in  life,  Eranconia  in  turn  commenced 
relating  the  misfortunes  that  had  befallen  her  uncle.  She 
tells  him  how  her  uncle  has  been  reduced  to  poverty  through 
Lorenzo's  folly,  and  Graspum,  the  negro  dealer's  undis- 
coverable  mode  of  ensnaring  the  unwary*  He  has  been 
importuned,  harassed,  subjected  to  every  degradation  and 
shame,  scouted  by  society  for  attempting  to  save  those 
beautiful  children,  Annette  and  Nicholas,  from  the  snares  of 
slavery.  And  he  now  welters  in  a  debtor's  prison,  with  few 
save  his  old  faithful  Daddy  Bob  for  friends. 

"Master,  and  my  old  companion,  Daddy  Bob  I"  exclaims 
Harry,  interrupting  her  at  the  moment. 

"  Yes  :  Daddy  takes  care  of  him  in  his  prison  cell." 

"  How  often  old  Bob'a  expressive  face  has  looked  upon 


WORKINGS  OF  THE  SLAVE  SYSTEM.  417 

me  in  my  dreams !  how  often  he  has  occupied  my  thoughts 
by  day!" 

"  Goodness  belongs  to  him  by  nature." 

"  And  master  is  in  prison  ;  but  Daddy  is  still  his  friend 
and  faithful !  Well,  my  heart  sorrows  for  master :  I  know 
his  proud  heart  bleeds  under  the  burden,"  he  says,  shaking 
his  head  sorrowfully.  There  is  more  sympathy  concealed 
beneath  that  black  exterior  than  words  can  express.  He 
will  go  and  see  master ;  he  will  comfort  him  within  his 
prison  walls;  he  will  rejoin  Daddy  Bob,  and  be  master's 
friend  once  more.  Mrs.  Roseforook,  he  is  sure,  will  grant 
him  any  privilege  in  her  power.  That  good  lady  is  forthwith 
solicited,  and  grants  Harry  permission  to  go  into  the  city 
any  day  it  suits  his  convenience — except  Sunday,  when  his 
services  are  required  for  the  good  of  the  people  on  the  plan 
tation.  Harry  is  delighted  with  this  token  of  her  goodness, 
and  appoints  a  day  when  he  will  meet  Miss  Franconia, — as 
he  yet  calls  her, — and  go  see  old  master  and  Daddy.  How 
glowing  is  that  honest  heart,  as  it  warms  with  ecstasy 
at  the  thought  of  seeing  "  old  master,"  even  though  he  be 
degraded  within  prison  walls  ! 

While  this  conversation  is  going  on  in  the  veranda, 
Bundry  agedmembers  of  negro  families — aunties  and  mammies 
— are  passing  backwards  and  forwards  in  front  of  the  house, 
casting  curious  glances  at  the  affection  exhibited  for  the 
new  preacher  by  "  Miss  Franconia."  The  effect  is  a 
sort  of  reconciliation  of  the  highly  aristocratic  objections 
they  at  first  interposed  against  his  reception.  "  Mus'  be 
somebody  bigger  dan  common  nigger  preacher ;  wudn't 
cotch  Miss  Erankone  spoken  wid  'urn  if  'um  warn't,"  says 
Dad  Timothy's  Jane,  who  is  Uncle  Absalom's  wife,  and,  in 
addition  to  having  six  coal-black  children,  as  fat  and  sleek 
as  beavers,  is  the  wise  woman  of  the  cabins,  around  whom 
all  the  old  veteran  mammies  gather  for  explanations  upon 
most  important  subjects.  In  this  instance  she  is  surrounded 
by  six  or  seven  grave  worthies,  whose  comical  faces  add 
great  piquancy  to  the  conclave.  Grrandinumrna  Dorothy,  who 
declares  that  she  is  grandmother  to  she  don't  know  how 
much  little  growing-up  property,  will  venture  every  grey 
hair  in  her  head — which  is  as  white  as  the  snows  of 
Nova  Scotia — that  he  knows  a  deal  o'  things  about  the 
gospel,  or  he  wouldn't  have  missus  for  such  a  close  acquaint- 

'    E    E 


418  WORKINGS  OF  THE  SLAVE  SYSTEM. 

ance.  "  But  his  shirt  ain't  just  da'h  fashon  fo'h  a  'speet- 
able  minister  ob  de  gospel,"  she  concludes,  with  profound 
wisdom  evinced  in  her  measured  nod. 

Aunt  Betsy,  than  whose  face  none  is  blacker,  or  more 
comically  moulded,  will  say  her  word ;  but  she  is  very  pro 
found  withal.  "  Reckon  how  tain't  de  clo'  what  make  e'  de 
preacher  tink  good  (Aunty's  lip  hangs  seriously  low  the 
while).  Lef  missus  send  some  calico  fum  town,  and  dis 
old  woman  son  fix  'uin  into  shirt  fo'h  him,"  she  says,  with 
great  assurance  of  her  sincerity. 

Harry — Mister  Harry,  as  he  is  to  be  called  by  the  people 
— finds  himself  comfortably  at  home  ;  the  only  drawback,  if 
such  it  may  be  called,  existing  in  the  unwillingness  ex 
hibited  on  the  part  of  one  of  the  overseers  to  his  being 
provided  with  apartments  in  the  basement  of  the  house 
instead  of  one  of  the  cabins.  This,  however,  is,  by  a  few 
conciliatory  words  from  Mrs.  Rosebrook,  settled  to  the 
satisfaction  of  all.  Harry  has  supper  provided  for  him  in 
one  of  the  little  rooms  downstairs,  which  he  is  to  make  his 
Study,  and  into  which  he  retires  for  the  night. 

"When  daylight  has  departed,  and  the  very  air  seems 
hanging  in  stillness  over  the  plantation,  a  great  whispering 
is  heard  in  Dad  Daniel's  cabin —  the-head  quarters,  where 
grave  matters  of  state,  or  questions  affecting  the  moral  or 
physical  interests  of  the  plantation,  are  discussed,  and  Dad 
Daniel's  opinion  held  as  most  learned — the  importance  of 
which  over  the  other  cabins  is  denoted  by  three  windows, 
one  just  above  the  door  being  usually  filled  with  moss  or  an 
old  black  hat.  Singular  enough,  on  approaching  the  cabin 
it  is  discovered  that  Daniel  has  convoked  a  senate  of  his 
sable  brethren,  to  whom  he  is  proposing  a  measure  of  great 
importance.  "  Da'h  new  precher,  gemen  !  is  one  ob  yer  own 
colur — no  more  Buckra  what  on'e  gib  dat  one  sarnion, — 
tank  God  fo'h  dat ! — and  dat  colour  geman,  my  children,  ye 
must  look  up  to  fo'h  de  word  from  de  good  book.  Now,  my 
bredren,  'tis  posin'  on  ye  dat  ye  make  dat  geman  'spectable. 
I  poses  den,  dat  we,  bredren,  puts  in  a  mite  apiece,  and  gib 
dat  ar'  geman  new  suit  ob  fus'  bes'clof,  so  'e  preach  fresh  and 
clean,"  Dad  Daniel  is  heard  to  say.  And  this  proposition  is 
carried  out  on  the  following  morning,  when  Daddy  Daniel-his 
white  wool  so  cleanly  washed,  and  his  face  glowing  with  great 
good-nature— accompanied  by  a  conclave  of  his  sable  compa- 


WORKINGS  OF  THE  SLAVE  SYSTEM.  419 

nions,  presents  himself  in  the  front  veranda,  and  demands  to 
see  "missus."  That  all-conciliating  personage  is  ever  ready  to 
receive  deputations,  and  on  making  her  appearance,  and 
receiving  the  usual  salutations  from  her  people,  receives 
from  the  hand  of  that  venerable  prime  minister,  Daddy 
Daniel,  a  purse  containing  twelve  dollars  and  fifty  cents.  It 
is  the  amount  of  a  voluntary  contribution — a  gift  for  the 
new  preacher.  "Missus"  is  requested,  after  adding  her 
portion,  to  expend  it  in  a  suit  of  best  black  for  the  new 
comer,  whom  they  would  like  to  see,  and  say  "  how  de,  to." 

Missus  receives  this  noble  expression  of  their  gratitude 
with  thanks  and  kind  words.  Harry  is  summoned  to  the 
veranda,  where,  on  making  his  appearance,  he  is  intro 
duced  to  Dad  Daniel,  who,  in  return,  escorts  him  down 
on  the  piazza  where  numbers  of  the  people  have 
assembled  to  receive  him.  Here,  with  wondrous  cere 
mony,  Dad  Daniel  doing  the  polite  rather  strong,  he  is 
introduced  to  all  the  important  people  of  the  planta 
tion.  And  such  a  shaking  of  hands,  earnest  congratulations, 
happy  "  how  des,"  bows,  and  joyous  laughs,  as  follow, 
place  the  scene  so  expressive  of  happiness  beyond  the 
power  of  pen  to  describe.  Then  he  is  led  away,  followed  by 
a  train  of  curious  faces,  to  see  Dad  Daniel's  neatly-arranged 
cabin ;  after  which  he  will  see  plantation  church,  and  suc 
cessively  the  people's  cabins.  To-morrow  evening,  at  early 
dusk,  it  is  said,  accordingto  invitation  and  arrangement,  he  will 
sup  on  the  green  with  his  sable  brethren,  old  and  young,  and 
spice  up  the  evening's  entertainment  with  an  exhortation; 
Dad  Daniel,  as  is  his  custom,  performing  the  duties  of 
deacon. 

Let  us  pass  over  this  scene,  and — Harry  having  ingratiated 
himself  with  the  plantation  people,  who  are  ready  to  give 
him  their  distinguished  consideration — ask  the  reader  to 
follow  us  through  the  description  of  another,  which  took 
place  a  few  days  after. 

Our  clergyman  has  delivered  to  his  sable  flock  his  first 
sermon,  which  Dad  Daniel  and  his  compatriots  pronounce 
great  and  good, — just  what  a  sermon  should  be.  Such 
pathos  they  never  heard  before ;  the  enthusiasm  and 
fervency  with  which  it  was  delivered  inspires  delight ;  they 
want  no  more  earnestness  of  soul  than  the  fervency  with 
which  his  gesticulations  accompanied  the  words ;  and  now 


420  WOBKINOS  OF  THE  SLAVE  SYSTEM. 

lie  has  obtained  a  furlough  that  he  may  go  into  the  city  and 
console  his  old  master.  A  thrill  of  commiseration  seizes 
him  as  he  contemplates  his  once  joyous  master  now  in 
prison  ;  but,  misgivings  being  useless,  onward  he  goes.  And 
he  will  see  old  Bob,  recall  the  happy  incidents  of  the  past, 
when  time  went  smoothly  on. 

He  reaches  the  city,  having  tarried  a  while  at  missus's 
villa,  and  seeks  M'Carstrow's  residence,  at  the  door  of  which 
he  is  met  by  Eranconia,  who  receives  him  gratefully,  and 
orders  a  servant  to  show  him  into  the  recess  of  the  hall, 
where  he  will  wait  until  such  time  as  she  is  ready  to  accom 
pany  him  to  the  county  prison.  M'Carstrow  has  recently 
removed  into  plainer  tenements:  some  whisper  that  necessity 
compelled  it,  and  that  the  "large  shot"  gamblers  have 
shorn  him  down  to  the  lowest  imaginable  scale  of  living 
Be  this  as  it  may,  certain  it  is  that  he  has  not  looked  within 
the  doors  of  his  own  house  for  more  than  a  week :  report 
Bays  he  is  enjoying  himself  in  a  fashionable  house,  to  the 
inmates  of  which  he  is  familiarly  known.  He  certainly 
leads  his  beautiful  wife  anything  but  a  pleasant  or  happy 
life.  Soon  Franconia  is  ready,  and  onward  wending  her 
way  for  the  gaol,  closely  followed  by  Harry.  She  would 
has'e  no  objection  to  his  walking  by  her  side,  but  custom 
(intolerant  interposer)  will  not  permit  it.  They  pass  through 
busy  thoroughfares  and  narrow  streets  into  the  suburbs, 
and  have  reached  the  prison  outer  gate,  on  the  right  hand 
of  which,  and  just  above  a  brass  knob,  are  the  significant 
words,  "  King  the  bell." 

"What  a  place  to  put  master  in!"  says  Harry,  in  a  half 
whisper,  turning  to  Eranconia,  as  he  pulls  the  brass  handle 
and  listens  for  the  dull  tinkling  of  the  bell  within.  He 
starts  at  the  muffled  summons,  and  sighs  as  he  hears  the 
heavy  tread  of  the  officer,  advancing  through  the  corridor 
to  challenge  his  presence.  The  man  advances,  and  has 
reached  the  inner  iron  gate,  situated  in  a  narrow,  vaulted 
arch  in  the  main  building.  A  clanking  and  clicking  sound  is 
heard,  and  the  iron  door  swings  back  :  a  thick-set  man,  with 
features  of  iron,  advances  to  the  stoop,  down  the  steps,  and 
to  the  gate.  "  What's  here  now  ?"  he  growls,  rather  than 
speaks,  looking  sternly  at  the  coloured  man,  as  he  thrusts 
his  left  hand  deep  into  his  side  pocket,  while  holding  the 
key  of  the  inner  door  in  his  right. 


WORKINGS  OF  THE  SLAVE  SYSTEM.  421 

"  Visitor,"  returns  Franconia,  modestly. 

"Who  does  the  nigger  want  to  see?"  he  enquires,  with 
pertinacity  in  keeping  with  his  profession. 

"  His  old  master  I"  is  the  quick  reply. 

"  You  hoth  ?  I  guess  I  know  what  it  is, — you  want  to 
see  Marston :  he  used  to  be  a  rice-planter,  but 's  now  in 
the  debtor's  ward  for  a  swimming  lot  of  debts.  Well, 
s'pose  I  must  let  you  in :  got  a  lot  o'  things,  I  s'pose  ?" 
he  say  s, 'looking  wickedly  through  the  bars  as  he  springs 
the  bolts,  and  swings  back  the  gate.  "  I  beg  yer 
pardon  a  dozen  times  !  but  I  didn't  recognise  ye  on  the 
outer  side,"  continues  the  official,  becoming  suddenly 
servile.  "  He  makes  a  low  bow  as  he  recognises  Franconia 
— motions  his  hand  for  them  to  walk  ahead.  They  reach 
the  steps  leading  to  the  inner  gate,  and  ascending,  soon  are 
in  the  vaulted  passage. 

If  they  will  allow  him,  the  polite  official  will  unlock  the 
grated  door.  Stepping  before  Franconia,  who,  as  the 
clanking  of  the  locks  grate  on  her  ear,  is  seized  with  sensa 
tions  she  cannot  describe,  he  inserts  the  heavy  key.  She 
turns  to  Harry,  her  face  pallid  as  marble,  and  lays  her 
tremulous  hand  on  his  arm,  as  if  to  relieve  the  nervousness 
with  which  she  is  seized.  Click!  click  !  sounds  forth  :  again 
the  door  creaks  on  its  hinges,  and  they  are  in  the  confines 
of  the  prison.  A  narrow  vaulted  arch,  its  stone  walls 
moistened  with  pestilential  malaria,  leads  into  a  small  vesti 
bule,  on  the  right  hand  of  which  stretched  a  narrow  aisle 
lined  on  both  sides  with  cells.  Dnmp  and  pestiferous,  a 
hollow  gloominess  seems  to  pervade  the  place,  as  if  it  were 
a  pest-house  for  torturing  the  living.  Even  the  air  breathes 
of  disease, — a  stench,  as  of  dead  men  buried  in  its  vaults, 
darts  its  poison  deep  into  the  system.  It  ia  this,  coupled 
with  the  mind's  discontent,  that  commits  its  ravages  upon 
the  poor  prisoner, — that  sends  him  pale  and  haggard  to  a 
soon-forgotten  grave. 

"  Last  door  on  the  right, — you  know,  mum,"  says  the 
official :  "  boy  will  follow,  lightly  :  whist  I  whist !" 

"  I  know,  to  my  sorrow,"  is  her  reply,  delivered  in  a 
whisper.  Ah  !  her  emotions  are  too  tender  for  prison  walls  ; 
they  are  yielding  tears  from  the  fountain  of  her  very  soul. 

"  He's  sick :  walk  softly,  and  don't  think  of  the  pri 
soners.  Knock  at  the  door  afore  enterin',"  says  a  staid- 


422  -WORKINGS  OF  THE  SLAVE  SYSTEM. 

looking  warden,  emerging  from  a  small  door  on  the  left  hand 
of  the  vestibule. 

"  Zist !  zist !"  returns  the  other,  pointing  with  the  fore 
finger  of  his  right  hand  down  the  aisle,  and,  placing  his 
left,  gently,  on  Franconia's  shoulder,  motioning  her  to 
move  on. 

Slowly,  her  handkerchief  to  her  face,  she  obeys  the  sign, 
and  is  moving  down  the  corridor,  now  encountering,  anxious 
eyes  peering  through  the  narrow  grating  of  huge  black 
doors.  And  then  a  faint,  dolorous  sound  strikes  on  their  listen 
ing  ears.  They  pause  for  a  moment, — listen  again !  It  become? 
clearer  and  clearer ;  and  they  advance  with  anxious  curiosity. 
"  It's  Daddy  Bob's  voice,"  whispers  Harry ;  "  but  how  distant 
it  sounds !  " 

"  Even  that  murmurs  in  his  confinement,"  returns 
Francouia. 

"  How,  like  a  thing  of  life,  it  recalls  the  past — the  past 
of  happiness !"  says  Harry,  as  they  reach  the  cell  door, 
and,  tremulously,  hesitate  for  a  few  moments. 

"  Listen  again !"  continues  Harry.  The  sound  having 
ceased  a  moment  or  two,  again  commences,  and  the  word 

"  There's  a  place  for  old  mas'r  yet, 
And  de  Lord  will  see  him  dar," 

are  distinctly  audible.  "  How  the  old  man  battles  for  his 
good  master  !"  returns  Harry,  as  Franconia  taps  gently  on 
the  door.  The  wooden  trap  over  the  grating  is  closed; 
bolts  hang  carelessly  from  their  staples  ;  and  yet,  though 
the  door  is  secured  with  a  hook  on  the  inside,  disease  and 
death  breathe  their  morbid  fumes  through  the  scarce 
perceptible  crevices.  A  whispering — "  Come  in!"  is  heard 
in  reply  to  the  tap  upon  the  door,  which  slowly  opens, 
and  the  face  of  eld  Bob,  bathed  in  grief,  protrudes  round 
the  frame.  "  Oh,  missus — missus — missus — Grod  give  good 
missus  spirit!"  he  exclaims,  seizing  Franconia  fervently 
by  the  hand,  and  looking  in  her  face  imploringly.  A  foetid 
stench  pervaded  the  atmosphere  of  the  gloomy  cell ;  it  is 
death  spreading  its  humid  malaria.  "  Good  old  master  is 
g — g — g — gone  !"  mutters  the  negro,  in  half-choked 
accents. 

With  a  wild  shriek,  the  noble  woman  rushes  to  the  side 
of  his  prison  cot,  seizes  his  blanched  hand  that  hangs 


WORKINGS  OF  THE  SLAVE  SYSTEM.  423 

carelessly  over  tlie  iron  frame,  grasps  his  head  frantically, 
and  draws  it  to  her  bosom,  as  the  last  gurgle  of  life  bids 
adieu  to  the  prostrate  body.  He  is  dead ! 

The  old  slave  has  watched  over  him,  shared  his  sorrows 
and  his  crust,  has  sung  a  last  song  to  his  departing  spirit. 
How  truthful  was  that  picture  of  the  dying  master  and 
his  slave !  The  old  man,  struggling  against  the  infirmities 
of  age,  had  escaped  the  hands  of  the  man-seller,  served 
his  master  with  but  one  object — his  soul's  love — and 
relieved  his  necessities,  until  death,  ending  his  troubles, 
left  no  more  to  relieve.  Now,  distracted  between  joy  at 
meeting  Harry,  and  sorrow  for  the  death  of  master,  the 
poor  old  man  is  lost  in  the  confusion  of  his  feelings. 
After  saluting  Eranconia,  he  turned  to  Harry,  threw  his 
arms  around  his  neck,  buried  his  head  in  his  bosom,  and  wept 
like  a  child.  "  Home — home  again, — my  Harry !  but  too  lato 
to  see  mas'r,"  he  says,  as  the  fountains  of  his  soul  give 
out  their  streams. 

""We  must  all  go  where  master  has  gone,"  returns 
Harry,  as  he,  more  calm,  fondles  the  old  man,  and  en 
deavours  to  reconcile  his  feelings.  "  Sit  there,  my  old  friend 
— sit  there ;  and  remember  that  Grod  called  master  away. 
I  must  go  to  his  bed-side,"  whispers  Harry,  seating 
the  old  man  on  a  block  of  wood  near  the  foot  of  the  cot, 
where  he  pours  forth  the  earnest  of  his  grief. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

AN  ITEM  IN  THE  COMMON  CALENDAR. 

THUS   painfully  has  Marston  paid  his   debtors.      Around 
his   lifeless   body   may    spring   to   life   those    sympathies 
which  were  dead  while  he  lived ;  but  deplorings  fall  useless 
on  dead  men.     There  is  one  consideration,  however,  which 
must   always    be   taken   into    account ;    it   is,    that    while 
sympathy  for    the   living    may  cost    something,  sympathy 
for   the    dead   is    cheap  indeed,  and    always    to    be    had. 
How  simply  plain  is  the  dead  man's  cell !     In  this  humid 
space,  ten  by  sixteen  feet,  and  arched  over-head,  is  a  bucket  of 
water,  with    a  tin  cup  at  the  side,  a  prison   tub  in  one 
corner,  two  wooden  chairs,    a  little  deal  stand,  (off  which 
the  prisoner    ate  his    meals),   and  his  trunk  of   clothing. 
The   sheriff,  insisting    that   it    was   his   rule   to   make  no 
distinction  of  persons,  allowed  prison  cot  and  prison  matress ; 
to  which,  by  the  kind  permission  of  the  warden,  Franconia 
added  sheets  and  a  coverlit.     Upon  this,  in  a  corner  at 
the  right,  and  opposite  a  spacious  fire-place,  in  which  are 
two  bricks    supporting    a  small  iron  kettle,  lies  the  once 
opulent  planter, — now  with  eyes  glassy  and  discoloured,  a 
ghastly  corpse.     His  house  once  was  famous  for  its  princely 
hospitality, — the  prison  cot  is  not  now  his  bequest :  but  ifc 
ia  all  the  world  has  left  him  on  which   to  yield  up  his  life. 
"  Oh,  uncle  !  uncle!    uncle  !"  exclaims  Franconia,  who  has 
been  bathing  his    contorted  face  with  her   tears,  "  would 
that  Grod  had  taken  me    too — buried  our  troubles  in  one 
grave  !     There  is  no  trouble  in  that  world  to  which  he  has 
gone:  joy,  virtue,  and  peace,  reign  triumphant  there,"  she 
speaks,  sighing,  as  she  raises  her  bosom  from  off  the  dead 
man.      Harry  has  touched  her  on  the  shoulder  with  his 
left  hand,  and  is  holding  the  dead  man's  with  his  right :  he 
seems  in  deep  contemplation.     His  mind   is   absorbed   in 
the  melancholy  scene ;  but,  though  his  affection  is  deep,  he 
has  no  tears  to  shed  at  this  moment.    No ;  he  will  draw  a 


AN  ITEM  IN  THE  COMMON  CALENDAR.  425 

chair  for  Franconia,  and  seat  her  near  the  head  of  the  cot, 
for  the  fountains  of  her  grief  have  overflown.  Discoloured 
and  contorted,  what  a  ghastly  picture  the  dead  man's  face 
presents  !  Glass y,  and  with  vacant  glare,  those  eyes,  strange 
in  death,  seem  wildly  staring  upward  from  earth.  How 
unnatural  those  sunken  cheeks — those  lips  wet  with  the 
excrement  of  black  vomit — that  throat  reddened  with  the 
pestilential  poison  !  "  Call  a  warden,  Daddy !"  says  Harry  ; 
"  he  has  died  of  black  vomit,  I  think."  And  he  lays  the 
dead  body  square  upon  the  cot,  turns  the  sheets  from  off 
the  shoulders,  unbuttons  the  collar  of  its  shirt.  "  How 
changed !  I  never  would  have  known  master  ;  but  I  can  sea 
something  of  him  left  yet."  Harry  remains  some  minutes 
looking  upon  the  face  of  the  departed,  as  if  tracing  some 
long  lost  feature.  And  then  he  takes  his  hands — it's  master's 
hand,  he  says — and  places  them  gently  to  his  sides,  closes 
his  glassy  eyes,  wipes  his  mouth  and  nostrils,  puts  his  ear 
to  the  dead  man's  mouth,  as  if  doubting  the  all-slayer's 
possession  of  the  body,  and  with  his  right  hand  parts  the 
matted  hair  from  off  the  cold  brow.  AVhat  a  step  between  the 
cares  of  the  world  and  the  peace  of  death  !  Harry  smooths, 
and  smooths,  and  smooths  his  forehead  with  his  hand ; 
until  at  length  his  feelings  get  the  better  of  his  resolution; 
he  will  wipe  the  dewy  tears  from  his  eyes.  Don't  weep, 
Miss  Eranconia, — don't  weep!  master  is  happy  with  Jesus, — 
happier  than  all  the  plantations  and  slaves  of  the  world 
could  make  him."  he  says,  turning  to  her  as  she  sits  weeping, 
her  elbow  resting  on  the  cot,  and  her  face  buried  in  her 
handkerchief. 

"  Bad  job  this  here  !"  exclaims  the  warden,  as  he  comes 
lumbering  into  the  cell,  his  face  flushed  with  anxiety.  "  This 
yoller-fever  beats  everything :  but  he  hasn't  been  well  for 
some  time,"  he  continues,  advancing  to  the  bed-side,  looking 
on  the  deceased  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then,  as  if  it  were  a 
part  of  his  profession  to  look  on  dead  men,  says  :  "  How 
strange  to  die  out  so  soon !" 

"  He  was  a  good  master,"   rejoins  Harry. 

'•  He  wasn't  your  master — Was  he  ?"  enquires  the  gaoler, 
in  graft'  accents. 

"  Once  he  was." 

"  But,  did  you  see  him  die,  boy  ?" 

«  Thank  God,  I  did  not." 


426  AN  ITEM  IN  TUB  COMMON  CALENDAR. 

"  And  this  stupid  old  nigger  hadn't  sense  to  call  me !" 
(be  turns  threateningly  to  Bob)  :  "  "Well, — must  'a  drop'd 
off  like  the  snuff  of  a  tallow  candle  !" 

Daddy  knew  master  was  a  poor  man.  now ; — calling 
would  have  availed  nothing ;  gaolers  are  bad  friends  of 
poverty. 

"  Could  you  not  have  sent  for  me,  good  man?"  enquires 
Franconia,  her  weeping  eyes  turning  upon  the  warden,  who 
says,  by  way  of  answering  her  question,  "  "We  must  have 
him  out  o'  here." 

"  I  said  mas'r  was  sicker  den  ye  s'posed,  yesterday ;  nor  ye 
didn't  notice  'um  !"  interposes  Bob,  giving  a  significant  look 
at  the  warden,  and  again  at  Eranconia. 

"  What  a  shame,  in  this  our  land  of  boasted  hospitality  ! 
He  died  neglected  in  a  prison  cell !" 

"  Truth  is,  ma'am,"  interrupts  the  warden,  who,  suddenly 
becoming  conscious  that  it  is  polite  to  be  courteous  to  ladies 
wherever  they  may  be  met,  uncovers,  and  holds  his  hat  in 
his  hand, — "  we  are  sorely  tried  with  black-vomit  cases  ;  no 
provision  is  made  for  them,  and  they  die  on  our  hands  afore 
we  know  it,  just  like  sheep  with  the  rot.  It  gives  us  a 
great  deal  of  trouble  ; — you  may  depend  it  does,  ma'am ;  and 
not  a  cent  extra  pay  do  we  get  for  it.  For  my  own  part, 
I've  become  quite  at  home  to  dead  men  and  prisoners.  My 
name  is —  you  have  no  doubt  heard  of  me  before  — John 
Lafayette  IFlewellen  :  my  situation  was  once,  madam,  that  of 
a  distinguished  road  contractor ;  and  then  they  run 
me  for  the  democratic  senator  from  our  district,  and  I  lost 
all  my  money  without  getting  the  office — and  here  I  am 
now,  pestered  with  sick  men  and  dead  prisoners.  And  the 
very  worst  is  that  ye  can't  please  nobody  ;  but  if  anything  is 
wanted,  ma'am,  just  call  for  me  :  John  Lafayette  Elewellen's 
my  name,  ma'am."  The  man  of  nerve,  with  curious  in 
difference,  is  about  to  turn  away, — to  leave  the  mourning 
party  to  themselves,  merely  remarking,  as  he  takes  his  hand 
from  that  of  the  corpse,  that  his  limbs  are  becoming  ffidgid, 
fast. 

"Stay — a — moment, — warden,"  says  Franconia,  sobbing: 
"  "When  was  he  seized  with  the  fever?" 

"  Day  afore  yesterday,  ma'am ;  but  he  didn't  complain 
until  yesterday.  That  he  was  in  a  dangerous  way  I'm  sure 
I'd  no  idea."  The  warden  shrugs  iiis  shoulders,  and 


AN  ITEM  IN  THE  COMMON  CALENDAR.  427 

spreads  his  hands.  My  eyes,  ma'am,  but  he  drank  strongly 
of  late !  Perhaps  that,  combined  with  the  fever,  helped 
slide  him  off?" 

"  Ah  !  yes, — it  was  something  else — it  was  grief!  His 
troubles  were  his  destroyer."  She  wipes  her  eyes,  and, 
with  a  look  of  commiseration,  turns  from  the  man  whose 
business  it  is  to  look  coldly  upon  unfortunate  dead  men. 

"  There  was  the  things  you  sent  him,  ma'am ;  and  he  got 
his  gaol  allowance,  and  some  gruel.  The  law  wouldn't  allow 
ns  to  do  more  for  him, — no,  ib  wouldn't !"  He  shakes  his  head 
in  confirmation. 

"  I  wanted  old  mas'r  to  let  'um  bring  doctor  ;  but  he  said 
no !  he  would  meet  de  doctor  what  cured  all  diseases  in 
another  world,"  interrupts  old  Bob,  as  he  draws  his  seat 
close  to  the  foot  of  the  cot,  and,  with  his  shining  face 
of  grief,  gazes  on  the  pale  features  of  hie  beloved  master. 

"  Let  him  lie  as  he  is,  till  the  coroner  comes,"  says 
the  warden,  retiring  slowly,  and  drawing  the  heavy  door 
after  him. 

The  humble  picture  was  no  less  an  expression  of  good 
ness,  than  proof  of  the  cruel  severity  of  the  law.  The 
news  of  death  soon  brought  curious  debtors  into  the  long 
aisle,  while  sorrow  and  sympathy  might  be  read  on  every 
face.  BUG  he  was  gone,  and  with  him  his  wants  and 
grievances.  A  physician  was  called  in,  but  he  could  not 
recall  life,  and,  after  making  a  few  very  learned  and  unin 
telligible  remarks  on  the  appearance  of  the  body,  took  his 
departure,  saying  that  they  must  not  grieve — that  it  was 
the  way  all  flesh  would  go.  He,  no  doubt,  died  of  the  black 
vomit,  hastened  by  the  want  of  care,"  he  concluded,  as  he 
left  the  cell. 

"  Want  of  care !"  rejoins  Eranconia,  again  giving  vent  to 
her  feelings.  How  deeply  did  the  arrow  dart  into  the  recesses 
of  her  already  wounded  heart ! 

Mr.  Moon,  the  methodical  coroner,  was  not  long  re 
pairing  to  the  spot.  He  felt,  and  felt,  and  felt  the  dead 
man's  limbs,  asked  a  few  questions,  bared  the  cold  breast, 
ordered  the  body  to  be  straightened  a  little,  viewed  it 
from  several  angles,  and  said  an  inquest  was  unnecessary. 
It  would  reveal  no  new  facts,  and,  as  so  many  were  dying  of 
the  same  disease,  could  give  no  more  relief  to  his  friends. 
Concerning  his  death,  no  one  could  doubt  the  cause  being 
28 


428  AN  ITEM  IN  THE  COMMON  CALENDAR. 

black  vomit.  With  a  frigid  attempt  at  consolation  for 
Franconia,  he  will  withdraw.  He  has  not  been  long  gone, 
when  the  warden,  a  sheet  over  his  left  arm,  again  makes 
his  appearance ;  he  passes  the  sheet  to  Harry,  with  a  re 
quest  that  he  will  wind  the  dead  debtor  up  in  it. 

Franco nia,  sobbing,  rises  from  her  seat,  opens  a  window 
at  the  head  of  the  cot  (the  dead  will  not  escape  through  the 
iron  grating),  and  paces  the  floor,  while  Harry  and  Daddy 
sponge  the  body,  lay  it  carefully  down,  and  fold  it  in  the 
winding-sheet.  "  Poor  master, — God  has  taken  him ;  but 
how  I  shall  miss  him !  I've  spent  happy  days  wid  *im  in 
dis  place,  1  have !"  says  Bob,  as  they  lay  his  head  on  the 
hard  pillow.  He  gazes  upon  him  with  affection, — and  says  : 
"  Mas'r  '11  want  no  more  clothes." 

And  now  night  is  fast  drawing  its  dark  mantle  over  the 
scene, — the  refulgent  shadows  of  the  setting  sun  play 
through  the  grated  window  into  the  gloomy  cell :  how  like 
a  spirit  of  goodness  sent  from  on  high  to  lighten  the  sorrows 
of  the  downcast,  seems  the  light.  A  faint  ray  plays  its  soft 
tints  on  that  face  now  pallid  in  death  ;  how  it  inspires  our 
thoughts  of  heaven !  Franconia  watches,  and  watches,  as 
fainter  and  fainter  it  fades  away,  like  an  angel  sent  for  the 
spirit  taking  its  departure.  "  Farewell !"  she  whispers,  as 
darkness  shuts  out  the  last  mellow  glimmer :  "  Come 
sombre  night,  and  spread  thy  stillness  !" 

The  warden,  moved  by  the  spark  of  generosity  his  soul 
possesses,  has  brought  some  cologne,  and  silently  places  it 
in  Franconia's  hands.  She  advances  to  the  cot,  seats  her 
self  near  the  head  of  her  dear  departed,  encircles  his  head 
with  her  left  arm,  and  with  her  white  'kerchief  bathes  his 
face  with  the  liquid,  Harry  holding  the  vessel  in  his  hand, 
at  her  request.  A  candle  sheds  its  sickly  light  upon  the 
humid  walls ;  faintly  it  discloses  the  face  of  Daddy  Bob, 
immersed  in  tears,  watching  intently  over  the  foot  of  the 
cot.  "  Missus  Frankone  is  alw's  kind  to  mas'r  !" 

"I loved  uncle  because  his  heart  was  good,"  returns 
Franconia. 

"  'Tis  dat,  missus.  How  kindly  old  mas'r,  long  time  ago, 
used  to  say,  '  Good  niornin',  Bob  !  Daddy,  mas'r  lubs  you  !  " 

How  firmly  the  happy  recollection  of  these  kind  words  is 
sealed  in  the  old  man's  memory. 


MARSTON  DIES  IN  THE  DEBTOR'S  CELL. 
"Farewell  I'  she  whispers,  as  darkness  shuts  out  the  last  mellow  glimmer.'" 


CHAPTEE  XXXVIII. 

IN  WHICH  REGRETS  ARE    SHOWN  OF  LITTLE  WORTH. 

THE  reader  may  remember,  that  we,  in  the  early  part  of  our 
narrative,  made  some  slight  mention  of  the  Uovero  family, 
of  which  Frauconia  and  Lorenzo  were  the  only  surviving 
children.  They,  too,  had  been  distinguished  as  belonging 
to  a  class  of  opulent  planters ;  but,  having  been  reduced  to 
poverty  by  the  same  nefarious  process  through  which  we 
have  traced  Marston's  decline,  and  which  we  shall  more 
fully  disclose  in  the  sequel,  had  gathered  together  the  rem 
nants  of  a  once  extensive  property,  and  with  the  proceeds 
migrated  to  a  western  province  of  Mexico,  where,  for  many 
years,  though  not  with  much  success,  Kovero  pursued  a 
mining  speculation.  They  lived  in  a  humble  manner; 
Mrs.  Jiovero,  Marston's  sister — and  of  whom  we  have  a 
tvpe  in  the  character  of  her  daughter,  Francouia — discarded 
all  unnecessary  appurtenances  of  living,  and  looked  forward 
to  the  time  when  they  would  be  enabled  to  retrieve  their 
fortunes  and  return  to  their  native  district  to  spend  the 
future  of  their  days  on  the  old  homestead.  More  than  four 
years,  however,  had  passed  since  any  tidings  had  been 
received  of  them,  by  Franconia  ;  and  it  was  strongly  surmised 
that  they  had  fallen  victims  to  the  ravage  incursions  of 
marauding  parties,  who  were  at  that  time  devastating  the 
country,  and  scattering  its  defenceless  inhabitants  home 
less  over  the  western  shores  of  central  America.  So  strong 
had  this  impression  found  place  in  Franconia' s  mind  that 
she  had  given  up  all  hopes  of  again  meeting  them.  As  for 
M'Carstrow's  friends,  they  had  never  taken  any  interest  in 
her  welfare,  viewing  her  marriage  with  the  distinguished 
colonel  as  a  mere  catch  on  the  part  of  her  parents,  whose 
only  motive  was  to  secure  themselves  the  protection  of  a 
name,  and,  perhaps,  the  means  of  sustaining  themselves 
above  the  rank  disclosure  of  their  real  poverty.  To  keep 
"  above  board  "  ia  everything  in  the  south  ;  and  the  family 


4:30  BEaBETS  ABE  SHOWN  OP  LITTLE  WOBTH. 

not  distinguished  soon  finds  itself  vrell  nigh  extinguished. 
Hence  that  ever  tenacious  clinging  to  pretensions,  sounding 
of  important  names,  and  maintenance  of  absurd  fallacies, — 
all  having  for  their  end  the  drawing  a  curtain  over  that 
real  state  of  poverty  there  existing.  Indeed,  it  was  no 
secret  that  even  the  M'Carstrow  family  (counting  itself 
among  the  very  few  really  distinguished  families  of  the 
state,  and  notorious  for  the  contempt  in  which  they  affected 
to  hold  all  common  people),  had  mortgaged  their  plantation 
and  all  its  negroes  for  much  more  than  their  worth  in 
ordinary  times.  As  for  tradesmen's  bills,  there  were  any 
quantity  outstanding,  without  the  shadow  of  a  prospect  of 
their  being  paid,  notwithstanding  importuners  had  frequently 
intimated  that  a  place  called  the  gaol  was  not  far  distant, 
and  that  the  squire's  office  was  within  a  stone's  throw  of  "  the 
corner."  Colonel  M'Carstrow,  reports  say,  had  some  years 
ago  got  a  deal  of  money  by  an  unexplainable  hocus  pocus, 
but  it  was  well  nigh  gone  in  gambling,  and  now  he  was 
keeping  brothel  society  and  rioting  away  his  life  faster  than 
the  race-horses  he  had  formerly  kept  on  the  course 
could  run. 

Hospitality  hides  itself  when  friends  are  needy  ;  and  it 
•will  be  seen  here  that  Franconia  had  few  friends— we  moan 
friends  in  need.  The  Hosebrook  family  formed  an  ex 
ception.  The  good  deacon,  and  his  ever  generous  lady,  had 
remained  Frauconia's  firmest  friends ;  but  so  large  and 
complicated  were  the  demands  against  Marston,  and  so 
gross  the  charges  of  dishonour— suspicion  said  he  fraudu 
lently  made  over  his  property  to  Graspum— that  they  dared 
not  interpose  for  his  relief;  nor  would  Marston  himself 
have  permitted  it.  The  question  now  was,  what  was  to  be 
done  with  the  dead  body  ? 

We  left  Franconia  bathing  its  face,  and  smoothing  the  hair 
across  its  temples  with  her  hand.  She  cannot  bury  the 
body  from  her  own  home :  —  no !  M'Carstow  will  not  per 
mit  that.  She  cannot  consign  it  to  the  commissioners  for  the 
better  regulation  of  the  "poor  house," — her  feelings  repulse 
the  thought.  One  thought  lightens  her  cares ;  she  will  straight 
way  proceed  to  Mrs.  Rosebi-ook's  villa, —  she  will  herself 
be  the  bearer  9f  the  mournful  intelligence;  while  Harry  will 
watch  over  the  remains  of  the  departed,  until  Daddy,  who 
must  be  her  guide  through  the  city,  shall  return.  "I  wilJ 


REGRETS  ARE  SHOWN  OF  LITTLE  WORTH.  431 

go  to  prepare  the  next  resting-place  for  uncle,"  says  Fran- 
conia,  as  if  nerving  herself  to  carry  out  the  resolution. 

"  AVith  your  permission,  missus,"  returns  Harry,  touch 
ing  her  on  the  arm,  and  pointing  through  the  grated 
window  into  the  gloomy  yard.  "  Years  since — before  I 
passed  through  a  tribulation  worse  than  death — when  we 
were  going  to  be  sold  in  the  market,  I  called  my  brothers 
and  sisters  of  the  plantation  together,  and  in  that  yard 
invoked  heaven  to  be  merciful  to  its  fallen.  I  was  sold  on 
that  day ;  but  heaven  has  been  merciful  to  me  ;  heaven  has 
guided  me  through  many  weary  pilgrimages,  and  brought 
me  here  to-night ;  and  its  protecting  hand  will  yet  restore 
me  my  wife  and  little  ones.  Let  us  pray  to-night ;  let  us 
be  grateful  to  Him  who  seeth  the  fallen  iu  his  tribulation, 
but  prepareth  a  place  for  him  in  a  better  world.  Let  us 
pray  and  hope,"  he  continued  :  and  they  knelt  at  the  side  of 
the  humble  cot  on  which  lay  the  departed,  while  he 
devoutly  and  fervently  invoked  the  Griver  of  all  Good  to 
forgive  the  oppressor,  to  guide  the  oppressed,  to  make  man 
feel  there  is  a  world  beyond  this,  to  strengthen  the  resolu 
tion  of  that  fair  one  who  is  thus  sorely  afflicted,  to  give  the 
old  man  who  weeps  at  the  feet  of  the  departed  new  hope 
for  the  world  to  come, — and  to  receive  that  warm  spirit 
which  has  just  left  the  cold  body  into  his  realms  of  bliss. 

What  of  roughness  there  was  in  his  manner  is  softened  by 
simplicity  and  truthfulness.  The  roughest  lips  may  breathe 
the  purest  prayer.  At  the  conclusion,  Pranconia  and 
DacMy  leave  for  Mrs.  Eosebrook's  villa,  while  Harry, 
remaining  to  watch  over  the  remains,  draws  his  chair  to 
the  stand,  and  reads  by  the  murky  light. 

"  I  won't  be  long  ;  take  care  of  old  mas'r,"  says  Daddy, 
as  he  leaves  the  cell,  solicitously  looking  back  into  the 
cavern-like  place. 

It  is  past  ten  when  they  reach  the  house  of  Mrs.  Rose- 
brook,  the  inmates  of  which  have  retired,  and  are  sleeping. 
Everything  is  quiet  in  and  about  the  enclosure ;  the  luxu 
riant  foliage  bespreading  a  lawn  extending  far  away 
to  the  westward,  seems  refreshing  itself  with  dew  that 
sparkles  beneath  the  starlight  heavens,  now  arched  like  a 
crystal  mist  hung  with  diamond  lights.  The  distant  watch 
dog's  bark  re-echoes  faintly  over  the  broad  lagoon,  to  the 
east;  a  cricket's  chirrup  sounds  beneath  the  woodbine 


432          REGRETS  ABE  SHOTTO  or  LITTLE  WORTH. 

arbour;  a  moody  guardsman,  mounted  on  his  lean  steed, 
and  armed  for  danger,  paces  his  slow  way  along :  he  it  is 
that  breaks  the  stillness  while  guarding  the  fears  of  a 
watchful  community,  who  know  liberty,  but  crush  with 
steel  the  love  thereof. 

A  rap  soon  brings  to  the  door  the  trim  figure  of  a 
mulatto  servant.  He  conveys  the  name  of  the  visitor  to 
his  "missus,"  who,  surprised  at  the  untimely  hour  Eran- 
conia  seeks  her,  loses  no  time  in  reaching  the  ante-room, 
into  which  she  has  been  conducted. 

Daddy  has  taken  his  seat  in  the  hall,  and  recognises 
"missus"  as  she  approaches;  but  as  she  puts  out  her 
hand  to  salute  him,  she  recognises  trouble  seated  on  his 
countenance.  "  Toung  missus  in  da'h,"  he  says,  pointing 
to  the  ante-room  while  rubbing  his  eyes. 

"  But  you  must  tell  me  what  trouble  has  befallen  you," 
she  returns,  as  quickly,  in  her  dishabille,  she  drops  his 
hand  and  starts  back. 

"Missus  know  'um  all, — missus  da'h."  Again  he  points, 
and  she  hastens  into  the  ante-room,  when,  grasping  Frauconia 
by  the  hand,  she  stares  at  her  with  breathless  anxiety  expressed 
in  her  face.  A  pause  ensues,  in  which  both  seem  bewildered. 
At  length  Franconia  breaks  the  silence.  "  Uncle  is  gone  !" 
she  exclaims,  following  the  words  with  a  flow  of  tears." 

"  €rone !"  reiterates  the  generous-hearbed  woman,  en 
circling  Eranconia's  neck  with  her  left  arm,  and  drawing 
her  fondly  to  her  bosom. 

"  Yes, — dead  !"  she  continues,  sobbing  audibly.  There 
is  something  touching  in  the  words, — something  which 
recalls  the  dearest  associations  of  the  past,  and  touches  the 
fountains  of  the  heart.  It  is  the  soft  tone  in  which  they 
are  uttered, — it  gives  new  life  to  old  images.  So  forcibly 
are  they  called  up,  that  the  good  woman  has  no  power  to 
resist  her  violent  emotions :  gently  she  guides  Franconia  to 
the  sofa,  seats  her  upon  its  soft  cushion,  and  attempts  to 
console  her  wrecked  spirit. 

The  men-servants  are  called  up, — told  to  be  prepared  for 
orders.  One  of  them  recognises  Daddy,  and,  inviting  him 
into  the  pantry,  would  give  him  food.  Trouble  lias 
wasted  the  old  man's  appetite ;  he  thinks  of  master,  but  has 
no  will  to  eat.  No  ;  he  will  see  missus,  and  proceed  back  to 
the  prison,  there  join  Harry,  and  watch  over  all  that  ia 


KEGRETS  ARE  SHOWN  OF  LITTLE  WORTH.  433 

mortal  of  master.  He  thanks  Abraham  for  what  he  gave 
him,  declines  the  coat  he  would  kindly  lend  him  to  keep 
out  the  chill,  seeks  the  presence  of  his  mistress  (she  has 
become  more  reconciled),  says,  "  G-od  bless  'um!"  bids  her 
good  night,  and  sallies  forth. 

Mrs.  Jiosebrook  listens  to  the  recital  of  the  melancholy 
scene  with  astonishment  and  awe.  "  How  death  grapples 
for  us  !"  she  exclaims,  her  soft,  soul-beaming  eyes  glaring 
with  surprise.  "  How  it  cuts  its  way  with  edge  unseen. 
Be  calm,  be  calm,  Franconia ;  you  have  nobly  done  your 
part, — nobly!  Whatever  the  pecuniary  misfortunes, — 
whatever  the  secret  cause  of  his  downfall,  you  have  played 
the  woman  to  the  very  end.  You  have  illustrated  the  purest 
of  true  affection  ;  would  it  had  repaid  you  better.  Before 
daylight — negroes  are,  in  consequence  of  their  superstition, 
unwilling  to  remove  the  dead  at  midnight — -I  will  have  the 
body  removed  here, — buried  from  my  house."  The  good 
woman  did  not  disclose  to  Franconia  that  her  husband  was 
from  home,  making  an  effort  to  purchase  Harry's  wife  and 
children  from  their  present  owner.  But  she  will  do  all  she 
can, — the  best  can  do  no  more. 

At  the  gaol  a  different  scene  is  presented.  Harry,  alone 
with  the  dead  man,  waits  Daddy's  return.  Each  tap  of  the 
bell  awakes  a  new  hope,  soon  to  be  disappointed.  The  clock 
strikes  eleven:  no  Daddy  returns.  The  gates  are  shut: 
Harry  must  wile  away  the  night,  in  this  tomb-like  abode, 
with  the  dead.  What  stillness  pervades  the  cell;  how 
mournfully  calm  in  death  sleeps  the  departed !  The  watcher 
has  read  himself  to  sleep  ;  his  taper,  like  life  on  its  way, 
has  nearly  shed  out  its  pale  light ;  the  hot  breath  of  summer 
breathes  balmy  through  the  lattice  bars ;  mosquitoes  sing 
their  torturous  tunes  while  seeking  for  the  dead  man's 
blood ;  lizards,  with  diamond  eyes,  crawl  upon  the 
wall,  waiting  their  ration :  but  death,  less  inexorable  than 
creditors,  sits  pale  king  over  all.  The  palace  and  the  cell 
are  alike  to  him ;  the  sharp  edge  of  his  unseen  sword  spares 
neither  the  king  in  his  purple  robe,  nor  the  starving  beggar 
who  seeks  a  crust  at  his  palace  gate, — of  all  places  the  worst. 

As  morning  dawns,  and  soft  fleeting  clouds  tinge  the 
heavens  with  light,  four  negroes  may  be  seen  sitting  at  the 
prison  gate,  a  litter  by  their  side,  now  and  then  casting 
silent  glances  upward,  as  if  contemplating  the  sombre  wall 


434  REGRETS  ARK  SHOWN  OF  LITTTE  WORTH. 

that  frowns  above  their  heads,  enclosing  the  prison.  The 
guard,  armed  to  the  teeth,  have  passed  and  repassed  them,  chal 
lenged  and  received  their  answer,  and  as  often  examined  their 
passes.  They  —  the  negroes  —  have  come  for  a  dead  man. 
Guardmen  get  no  fees  of  dead  men, — the  law  has  no  more  de 
mands  to  serve  :  they  wish  the  boys  much  joy  with  their  booty, 
and  pass  on. 

Six  o'clock  arrives ;  the  first  bell  rings  ;  locks,  bolts,  arid 
bars  clank  in  ungrateful  medley  ;  rumbling  voices  are  heard 
within  the  hollow-sounding  aisles ;  whispers  from  above 
chime  ominously  with  the  dull  shuffle  rumbling  from  beknv. 
'  Seven  more  cases, — how  it  rages !"  grumbles  a  mono 
tonous  voice,  and  the  gate  opens  at  the  warden's  touch. 
"Who's  here?"  he  demands,  with  stern  countenance  un 
changed,  as  he  shrugs  his  formidable  shoulders.  "  I  see, 
(he  continues,  quickly),  you  have  come  for  the  dead  debtor. 
Grlad  of  it,  my  good  fellow ;  this  is  the  place  to  make  dead 
men  of  debtors.  Brought  an  order,  I  s'pose?"  Saying 
"follow  me,"  he  turns  about,  hastens  to  the  vestibule, 
receives  the  order  from  the  hand  of  Duncan,  the  chief 
negro,  reads  it  with  grave  attention,  supposes  it  is  all 
straight,  and  is  about  to  show  him  the  cell  where  the  body 
lays,  and  which  he  is  only  too  glad  to  release.  "  Hold  a 
moment!"  Mr.  Winterflint — such  is  his  name — says. 
Heaven  knows  he  wants  to  get  rid  of  the  dead  debtor ;  but 
the  laws  are  so  curious,  creditors  are  so  obdurate,  and 
sheriffs  have  such  a  crooked  way  of  doing  straight  things, 
that  he  is  in  the  very  bad  position  of  not  knowing  what  to 
do.  Some  document  from  the  sheriff  may  be  necessary ; 
perhaps  the  creditors  must  agree  to  the  compromise.  He 
forgets  that  inexorable  Death,  as  he  is  vulgarly  styled,  has 
forced  a  compromise :  creditors  must  now  credit  "  by 
decease"  Upon  this  point,  however,  he  must  be  satisfied 
by  his  superior.  He  now  wishes  Mr.  Brien  Moon  would 
evince  more  exactness  in  holding  inquests,  and  less  anxiety 
for  the  fees.  Mr.  Winterflint  depends  not  on  his  own 
decisions,  where  the  laws  relating  to  debtors  are  so  absurdly 
mystical.  "  Rest  here,  boy,"  he  says ;  "  I  won't  be  a 
minute  or  two, — must  do  the  thing  straight."  He  seeks 
the  presence  of  that  extremely  high  functionary,  the  gaoler 
(high  indeed  wherever  slavery  rules),  who,  having  weighed 


REGRETS  ARE  SHOWK  OP  LITTLE  WORTH.  435 

the  points  with  great  legal  impartiality,  gives  it  as  his  most 
distinguished  opinion  that  no  order  of  release  from  the  high 
sheriff  is  requisite  to  satisfy  the  creditors  of  his  death  :  take 
care  of  the  order  sent,  and  make  a  note  of  the  niggers  who 
take  him  away,"  concludes  that  highly  important  gentleman, 
as  comfortably  his  head  reclines  on  soft  pillow.  To  this  end 
was  Mr.  Moon's  certificate  essential. 

Mr.  Wiuterfliut  returns  ;  enquires  who  owns  the  hoys. 

"  Mas'r  Kosebrook's  niggers,"    Duncan  replies,  firmly ; 
"but  Missus  send  da  order." 

"  Sure  of  that,  now  ?  G-ood  niggers  them  of  Kosebrook's  : 
wouldn't  a'  gin  it  to  nobody  else's  niggers.  Follow  me — 
zist,  zist!"  he  says,  crooking  his  finger  at  the  other  three, 
and  scowling,  as  Duncan  relieves  their  timidity  by  ad 
vancing.  They  move  slowly  and  noiselessly  up  the  aisle, 
the  humid  atmosphere  of  which,  pregnant  with  death,  sickens 
as  it  steals  into  the  very  blood.  "In  there — zist !  make  no 
noise ;  the  dead  debtor  lies  there,"  whispers  the  warden, 
laying  his  left  hand  upon  Duncan's  shoulder,  and,  the  fore 
finger  of  his  right  extended,  pointing  toward  the  last  cell 
on  the  left.  "  Door's  open ;  not  locked,  I  meant.  Left  it 
unsecured  last  night.  Rap  afore  ye  go  in,  though."  At 
the  methodical  warden's  bidding  Duncan  proceeds,  his  foot 
falling  lightly  on  the  floor.  Beaching  the  door,  he  places 
his  right  hand  on  the  swinging  bolt,  and  for  a  few  seconds 
seems  listening.  He  hears  the  muffled  sound  of  a  footfall 
pacing  the  floor,  and  then  a  muttering  as  of  voices  in  secret 
communion,  or  dying  echoes  from  the  tomb.  He  has  not 
mistaken  the  cell ;  its  crevices  give  forth  odours  pergnant  of 
proof.  Two  successive  raps  bring  Harry  to  the  door  :  they 
are  admitted  to  the  presence  of  the  dead.  One  by  one 
Harry  receives  them  by  the  hand,  but  he  must  needs  be 
told  why  Daddy  is  not  with  them.  They  know  not.  He  ate 
a  morsel,  and  left  late  last  night,  says  one  of  the  negroes. 
Harry  is  astonished  at  this  singular  intelligence :  Daddy 
Bob  never  before  was  known  to  commit  an  act  of  unfaith 
fulness  ;  he  was  true  to  Marston  in  life, — strange  that  he 
should  desert  him  in  death.  "Mas'r's  death-bed  wasn't 
much  at  last,"  says  Duncan,  as  they  gather  round  the  cot, 
and,  with  curious  faces,  mingle  their  more  curious  remarks. 
Harry  draws  back  the  white  handkerchief  which  Franconia 
had  spread  over  the  face  of  the  corpse,  as  the  negroes  start 


436  REGRETS  ARE  SHOWN  OF  LITTLE  WORTH. 

back  affrighted.  As  of  nervous  contortion,  the  ghastly  face 
presents  an  awful  picture.  Swollen,  discoloured,  and  con 
tracted,  no  one  outline  of  that  once  cheerful  countenance 
can  be  traced.  "  Don't  look  much  like  Mas'r  Marston  used 
to  look ;  times  must  a'  changed  mightily  since  he  used  to 
look  so  happy  at  home,"  mutters  Duncan,  shaking  his  head, 
and  telling  the  others  not  to  be  "fear'd;  dead  men  can't 
hurt  nobody." 

"  Died  penniless  ; — but  e'  war  good  on  e'  own  plantation," 
rejoins  another.  "One  ting  be  sartin  'bout  nigger — he  know 
how  he  die  wen  'e  time  cum  ;  Mas'r  don  know  how  'e  gwine 
to  die!" 

Having  seen  enough  of  the  melancholy  finale,  they  spread 
the  litter  in  the  aisle,  as  the  warden  enters  the  cell  to  faci 
litate  the  dead  debtor's  exit.  Harry  again  covers  the  face, 
and  prepares  to  roll  the  body  in  a  coverlit  brought  by  Dnn- 
can.  "  I  kind  of  liked  him — he  was  so  gentlemanly — has 
been  with  us  so  long,  and  did'nt  seem  like  a  prisoner.  He 
was  very  quiet,  and  always  civil  when  spoken  to,"  interposes 
the  warden,  as,  assisting  the  second  shrouding,  he  presses 
the  hand  of  the  corpse  in  his  own. 

Now  he  is  ready  ;  they  place  his  cold  body  on  the  litter  ; 
a  few  listless  prisoners  stand  their  sickly  figures  along  the 
passage,  watch  him  slowly  borne  to  the  iron  gate  in  the 
arched  vault.  Death — less  inexorable  than  creditors — has 
signed  his  release,  thrown  back  prison  bolts  and  bars,  wrested 
him  from  the  grasp  of  human  laws,  and  now  mocks  at  credi 
tors,  annuls^? /as,  bids  the  dead  debtor  make  his  exit.  Death 
pays  no  gaol  fees  ;  it  makes  that  bequest  to  creditors  ;  but 
it  reserves  the  keys  of  heaven  for  another  purpose.  "  One 
ration  less,"  says  the  warden,  who,  closing  the  grated  door, 
casts  a  lingering  look  after  the  humble  procession,  bearing 
away  the  remains  of  our  departed. 

With  Harry  as  the  only  follower,  they  proceed  along, 
through  suburban  streets,  and  soon  reach  the  house  of  that 
generous  woman.  A  minister  of  the  gospel  awaits  his  coming  ; 
the  good  man's  words  are  consoling,  but  he  cannot  remodel 
the  past  for  the  advantage  of  the  dead.  Soon  the  body  is  placed 
in  a  "ready-made  coffin,"  and  the  good  man  oifers  up  the 
last  funeral  rites ;  he  can  do  no  more  than  invoke  the  great 
protector  to  receive  the  departed  into  his  bosom. 

"  How  the  troubles  of  this  world  rise  up  before  me !    Oh  1 


BEGBETS  ABE  SHOWN  OF  LITTLE  WOBTH.  437 

uncle !  uncle !  how  I  could  part  with  the  world  and  bury 
my  troubles  in  the  same  grave  !"  exclaims  Franconia,  as,  the 
ceremony  having  ended,  they  bear  the  body  away  to  its  last 
resting-place  ;  and,  in  a  paroxysm  of  grief,  she  shrieks  and 
falls  swooning  to  the  floor. 

In  a  neatly  inclosed  plat,  a  short  distance  from  the  Rose- 
brook  Villa,  and  near  the  bank  of  a  meandering  rivulet, 
overhung  with  mourning  willows  and  clustering  vines,  they 
lay  him  to  rest.  The  woi-ld  gave  the  fallen  man  nothing  but  a 
prison-cell  wherein  to  stretch  his  dying  body  ;  a  woman  gives 
him  a  sequestered  grave,  and  nature  spreads  it  with  her 
loveliest  offering.  It  is  the  last  resting-place  of  the  Hose- 
brook  family,  which  their  negroes,  partaking  of  that  content 
ment  so  characteristic  of  the  family,  have  planted  with 
flowers  they  nurture  with  tenderest  care.  There  is  something 
touching  in  the  calm  beauty  of  the  spot ;  something  breath 
ing  of  rural  contentment.  It  is  something  to  be  buried  in 
a  pretty  grave — to  be  mourned  by  a  slave — to  be  loved  by 
the  untutored.  How  abject  the  slave,  and  yet  how  true  his 
affection !  how  dear  his  requiem  over  a  departed  friend  ! 
"  God  bless  master — receive  his  spirit !"  is  heard  mingling 
with  the  music  of  the  gentle  breeze,  as  Harry,  sitting  at  the 
head  of  the  grave,  looks  upward  to  heaven,  -while  earth 
covers  from  sight  the  mortal  relics  of  a  once  kind  master. 
,  It  has  been  a  day  of  sadness  at  the  villa — a  day  of  mourn 
ing  and  tribulation.  How  different  the  scene  in  the  city  ! 
There,  men  whisper  strange  regrets.  Sympathy  is  let  loose, 
and  is  expanding  itself  to  an  unusual  degree.  Who  was 
there  that  did  not  know  Marston's  generous,  gushing  soul ! 
"Who  was  there  that  would  not  have  stretched  forth  the 
helping  hand,  had  they  known  his  truly  abject  condition ! 
"Who  that  was  not,  and  had  not  been  twenty  times,  on  the 
very  brink  of  wresting  him  from  the  useless  tyranny  of  his 
obdurate  creditors !  "Who  that  had  not  waited  from  day  to 
day,  with  purse-strings  open,  ready  to  pour  forth  the  unmis- 
takeable  tokens  of  friendship !  How  many  were  only  re 
strained  from  doing  good — from  giving  vent  to  the  fountains 
of  their  hospitality — through  fear  of  being  contaminated 
with  that  scandal  rumour  had  thrown  around  his  decline ! 
Over  his  death  hath  sprung  to  life  that  curious  fabric  of 
living  generosity,  so  ready  to  bespread  a  grave  with  un- 
needed  bounties, — so  emblematic  of  how  many  false  mourners 


438  REGRETS  ARE  SHOWN  OF  LITTLE  WORTH. 

hath  the  dead.  But  Graspum  would  have  all  such  expres- 
sious  shrink  beneath  his  glowing  goodness.  With  honied 
words  he  tells  the  tale  of  his  own  honesty :  his  business 
intercourse  with  the  deceased  was  in  character  most  gene 
rous.  Many  a  good  turn  did  Marston  receive  at  his  hands  ; 
long  had  he  been  his  faithful  and  unwearied  friend.  Fierce 
are  the  words  with  which  he  would  execrate  the  tyrant 
creditors ;  yea,  he  would  heap  condign  punishment  on  their 
obdurate  heads.  Time  after  time  did  he  tell  them  the  fallen 
man  was  penniless  ;  how  strange,  then,  that  they  tortured 
him  to  death  within  prison  walls.  He  would  sweep  away 
such  vengeance,  bury  it  with  his  curses,  and  make  obsolete 
such  laws  as  give  one  man  power  to  gratify  his  passion  on 
another.  His  burning,  surging  anger  can  find  no  relief; 
nor  can  he  tolerate  such  antiquated  debtor  laws :  to  him 
they  are  the  very  essence  of  barbarism,  tainting  that  enlight 
ened  civilisation  so  long  implanted  by  the  State,  so  well 
maintained  by  the  people.  It  is  on  those  ennobling 
virtues  of  state,  he  says,  the  cherished  doctrines  of  our 
democracy  are  founded.  Graspum  is,  indeed,  a  well- 
developed  type  of  our  modern  democracy,  the  flimsy  fabric 
of  which  is  well  represented  in  the  gasconade  of  the  above 
outpouring  philanthropy. 

And  now,  as  again  the  crimson  clouds  of  evening  soften 
into  golden  hues — as  the  sun,  like  a  fiery  chariot,  sinks  be-^ 
neath  the  western  landscape,  and  still  night  spreads  her 
shadowy  mantle  down  the  distant  hills,  and  over  the  broad 
lagoon  to  the  north — two  sable  figures  may  be  seen  patting, 
sodding,  and  bespreading  with  fresh-plucked  flowers  the 
new  grave.  As  the  rippling  brook  gives  out  its  silvery 
music,  and  earth  seems  drinking  of  the  misty  dew,  that,  like 
a  bridal  veil,  spreads  over  its  verdant  hillocks,  they  whisper 
their  requiem  of  regret,  and  mould  the  grave  so  carefully. 
"  It's  mas'r's  last,"  says  one,  smoothing  the  cone  with  his 
hands. 

"  We  will  plant  the  tree  now,"  returns  the  other,  bring 
ing  forward  a  young  clustering  pine,  which  he  places  at  the 
head  of  the  grave,  and  on  which  he  cuts  the  significant 
epitaph — "  Good  master  lies  here  !" 

Duncan  and  Harry  have  paid  their  last  tribute.  "  He  is 
at  peace  with  this  world,"  says  the  latter,  as,  at  the  gate,  he 
turns  to  take  a  last  look  over  the  paling. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

HOW  WE  SHOULD  ALL  BE  FOEQIVING. 

LET  us  forget  the  scenes  of  the  foregoing  chapters,  and 
turn  to  something  of  pleasanter  hme.  In  the  meantime, 
let  us  freely  acknowledge  that  we  live  in  a  land — our 
democratic  south,  we  mean — where  sumptuous  living 
and  abject  misery  present  their  boldest  outlines, — 
where  the  ignorance  of  the  many  is  excused  by  the  polished 
education  of  a  very  few, — where  autocracy  sways  its  lash 
with  bitterest  absolutism, — where  menial  life  lies  prostrate  at 
the  feet  of  injustice,  and  despairingly  appeals  to  heaven 
for  succour, — where  feasts  and  funerals  rival  each  other, — 
and  when  pestilence,  like  a  glutton,  sends  its  victims  to 
the  graveyard  most,  the  ball-room  glitters  brightest  with  its 
galaxy.  Even  here,  where  clamour  cries  aloud  for  popular 
government,  men's  souls  are  most  crushed — not  with  legal 
right,  but  by  popular  will!  And  yet,  from  out  all  this  in 
congruous  substance,  there  seems  a  genial  spirit  working 
itself  upon  the  surface,  and  making  good  its  influence  ;  and 
it  is  to  that  influence  we  should  award  the  credit  due.  That 
genial  spirit  is  the  good  master's  protection ;  we  would  it 
were  wider  exercised  for  the  good  of  all.  But  we  must 
return  to  our  narrative. 

The  Rosebrook  Villa  has  assumed  its  usual  cheerfulness  ; 
but  while  pestilence  makes  sad  havoc  among  the  inhabitants 
of  the  city,  gaiety  is  equally  rampant.  In  a  word,  even  the 
many  funeral  trains  which  pass  along  every  day  begin  to 
wear  a  sort  of  cheerfulness,  in  consequence  of  which,  it 
is  rumoured,  the  aristocracy— we  mean  those  who  have 
money  to  spend—have  made  up  their  minds  not  to  depart 
for  the  springs  yet  awhile.  As  for  Franconia,  finding  she 
could  no  longer  endure  M'Carstrow's  dissolute  habits,  and 
having  been  told  by  that  very  distinguished  gentleman,  but 
unamiable  husband,  that  he  despised  the  whole  tribe  of  her 
poor  relations,  she  has  retired  to  private  boarding,  where, 
with  the  five  dollars  a  week,  he,  in  the  outpouring  of  his 


440         HOW  WE  SHOULD  ALL  BE  FORGIVING. 

southern  generosity,  allows  her,  she  subsists  plainly  but 
comfortably.  It  is,  indeed,  a  paltry  pittance,  which  the 
M'Carstrow  family  will  excuse  to  the  public  with  the  great 
ness  of  their  name. 

Harry  has  returned  to  the  plantation,  where  the  people 
have  smothered  him  in  a  new  suit  of  black.  Already  has 
he  preached  three  sermons  in  it,  which  said  sermons  are  de 
clared  wonderful  proofs  of  his  biblical  knowledge.  Even 
Daddy  Daniel,  who  expended  fourteen  picayunes  in  a  new 
pair  of  spectacles,  with  which  to  hear  the  new  parson  more 
distinctly,  pronounces  the  preaching  prodigious.  He  is 
vehement  in  his  exultation,  lavishes  his  praise  without 
stint;  and  as  his  black  face  glows  with  happiness,  thanks 
missus  for  her  great  goodness  in  thus  providing  for  their 
spiritual  welfare.  The  Rosebrook  "  niggers  "  were  always 
extremely  respectable  and  well  ordered  in  their  moral  condi 
tion  ;  but  now  they  seem  invested  with  a  new  impulse  for 
working  out  their  own  good ;  and  by  the  advice  of  missus, 
whom  every  sable  sou  and  daughter  loves  most  dearly, 
Daddy  Daniel  has  arranged  a  system  of  evening  praver 
meetings,  which  will  be  held  in  the  little  church,  twice  a 
week.  And,  too,  there  prevails  a  strong  desire  for  an 
evening  gathering  now  and  then,  at  which  the  young  shiners 
may  be  instructed  how  to  grow.  A  curiously  democratic 
law,  however,  offers  a  fierce  impediment  to  this  ;  and  Daddy 
Daniel  shakes  his  head,  and  aunt  Peggy  makes  a  belligerent 
muttering  when  told  such  gatherings  cannot  take  place 
without  endangering  the  state's  rights.  It  is,  nevertheless, 
decided  that  Kate,  and  Nan,  and  Dorothy,  and  Webster, 
and  Clay,  and  such  like  young  folks,  may  go  to  "  settings  up  " 
and  funerals,  but  strictly  abstain  from  all  fandangoes.  Dad 
Daniel  and  his  brother  deacons  cannot  countenance  such 
fiddling  and  dancing,  such  break-downs,  and  shoutings,  and 
whirlings,  and  flouncing  and  frilling,  and  gay  ribboning,  as 
generally  make  up  the  evening's  merriment  at  these  fan 
dangoes,  so  prevalent  on  neighbouring  plantations  about 
Christmas  time.  "  Da  don'  mount  to  no  good !"  Daniel 
says,  with  a  broad  guffaw.  "  JSlgger  what  spect  t'  git  hi' 
way  up  in  da  world  bes  lef  dem  tings."  And  so  one  or 
two  more  screws  are  to  be  worked  up  for  the  better  regu 
lation  of  the  machinery  of  the  plantation.  As  for  Master 
Bosebrook — why,  he  wouldn't  sell  a  nigger  for  a  world  of 


HOW  "WE  SHOULD  ALL  BE  FOBGIYIKG.  441 

money ;  and  he  doesn't  care  how  much  they  learn ;  the 
more  the  better,  provided  they  learn  on  the  sly.  They  are  all 
to  be  freed  at  a  certain  time,  and  although  freedom  is  sweet, 
without  learning  they  might  make  bad  use  of  it.  But 
master  has  had  a  noble  object  in  view  for  some  days  past, 
and  which,  after  encountering  many  difficulties,  he  has 
succeeded  in  carrying  out  to  the  great  joy  of  all  parties 
concerned. 

One  day,  as  the  people  were  all  busily  engaged  on  the 
plantation,  Bradshaw's  familiar  figure  presents  itself  at  the 
house,  and  demands  to  see  Harry.  He  has  great  good  news, 
but  don't  want  to  tell  him  "  nofin"  till  he  arrives  at  the 
Villa.  "  Ah,  good  man  (Bradshaw's  face  beams  good  tidings, 
as  he  approaches  Harry,  and  delivers  a  note)  mas'r  specs 
ye  down  da'  wid  no  time  loss."  Bradshaw  rubs  his  hands, 
and  grins,  and  bows,  his  face  seeming  two  shades  blacker 
than  ever,  but  no  less  cheerful. 

"  Master  wants  me  to  preach  somewhere,  next  Sunday, — 
I  know  he  does,"  says  Harry,  reading  the  note,  which  re 
quests  him  to  come  immediately  into  the  city.  He  will 
prepare  to  obey  the  summons,  Dan  and  Sprat  meanwhile 
taking  good  care  of  the  horse  and  carriage,  while  Bradshaw 
makes  a  friendly  visit  to  a  few  of  the  more  distinguished 
cabins,  and  says  "  how  de "  to  venerable  aunties,  who 
spread  their  best  fare  before  him,  and,  with  grave  ceremony, 
invite  him  in  to  refresh  before  taking  his  return  journey  into 
the  city ;  and  Maum  Betsy  packs  up  six  of  her  real  smart 
made  sweet  cakes  for  the  parson  and  Bradshaw  to  eat  along 
the  road.  Betsy  is  in  a  strange  state  of  bewilderment  to 
know  why  master  wants  to  take  the  new  parson  away  just 
now,  when  he's  so  happy,  and  is  only  satisfied  when  assured 
that  he  will  be  safely  returned  to-morrow.  A  signal  is 
made  for  Dad  Daniel,  who  hastens  to  the  cabin  in  time  to 
see  everything  properly  arranged  for  the  parson's  departure, 
and  say :  "  God  bless  'um, — good  by!" 

"  Now,  what  can  master  want  with  me  ?"  enquires 
Harry,  as,  on  the  road,  they  roll  away  towards  the 
city. 

Bradshaw  cracks  his  whip,  and  with  a  significant  smile 
looks  Harry  in  the  face,  and  returns:  "  Don'  ax  dis  child 
no  mo'  sich  question.  Old  mas'r  and  me  neber  break 


442  HOW  WE  SHOULD  ALL  BE  FOBGUVIJTO. 

secret.  Tell  ye  dis,  do'h !  Old  mas'r  do  good  ting, 
sartin." 

"  Tou  know,  but  won't  tell  me,  eh  ?"  rejoins  Harry, 
his  manly  face  wearing  a  solicitous  look.  Bradshaw 
shakes  his'  head,  and  adds  a  cunning  wink  in  reply. 

It  is  three  o'clock  when  they  arrive  at  the  Villa,  where, 
without  reserve,  missus  extends  her  hand,  and  gives  him  a 
cordial  welcome, — tells  him  Franconia  has  been  waiting  to 
see  him  with  great  patience,  and  has  got  a  present  for  him. 
Franconia  comes  rushing  into  the  hall,  and  is  so  glad  to  see 
him ;  but  her  countenance  wears  an  air  of  sadness,  which 
does  not  escape  his  notice — she  is  not  the  beautiful  creature 
she  was  years  ago,  care  has  sadly  worn  upon  those  rounded 
features.  But  master  is  there,  and  he  looks  happy  and 
cheerful ;  and  there  is  something  about  the  house  servants, 
as  they  gather  round  him  to  have  their  say,  which  looks  of 
suspiciously  good  omen.  He  cannot  divine  what  it  is  ;  his 
first  suspicions  being  aroused  by  missus  saying  Franconia 
had  been  waiting  to  see  him. 

"  We  must  not  call  him  Harry  any  longer — it  doesn't  be 
come  his  profession  :  now  that  he  is  Elder  of  my  plantation 
flock,  he  must,  from  this  time,  be  called  Elder!"  says 
Kosebrook,  touching  him  on  the  arm  with  the  right  hand. 
And  the  two  ladies  joined  in,  that  it  must  be  so.  "  Go  into 
the  parlour,  ladies  ;  I  must  say  a  word  or  two  to  the  Elder," 
continued  Hosebrook,  taking  Harry  by  the  arm,  and  pacing 
through  the  hall  into  the  conservatory  at  the  back  of  the 
house.  Here,  after  ordering  Harry  to  be  seated,  he  recounts 
his  plan  of  emancipation,  which,  so  far,  has  worked  ad 
mirably,  and,  at  the  time  proposed,  will,  without  doubt  or 
danger,  produce  the  hoped-for  result.  "  Tou,  my  good 
man,"  he  says,  "  can  be  a  useful  instrument  in  furthering 
my  ends  ;  I  want  you  to  be  that  instrument !"  His  negroes 
have  all  an  interest  in  their  labour,  which  interest  is  pre 
served  for  them  in  missus's  savings-bank ;  and  at  a  given 
time  they  are  to  have  their  freedom,  but  to  remain  on  the 
plantation  if  they  choose,  at  a  stipulated  rate  of  wages. 
Indeed,  so  strongly  impressed  with  the  goocP  results  of  his 
proposed  system  is  llosebrook,  that  he  long  since  scouted 
that  contemptible  fallacy,  which  must  have  had  its  origin  in 
the  very  dregs  of  selfishness,  that  the  two  races  can  only 


HOW  WE  SHOULD  ALL  BE  FOEGTYIITG.  443 

live  in  proximity  by  one  enslaving  the  other.  Justice  to 
each  other,  he  holds,  will  solve  the  problem  of  their  living 
together;  but,  between  the  oppressor  and  the  oppressed, 
a  volcano  that  may  at  any  day  send  forth  its  devouring 
flame,  smoulders.  Eosebrook  knows  goodness  always 
deserves  its  reward ;  and  Harry  assures  him  he  never  will 
violate  the  trust.  Having  said  thus  much,  he  rises  from 
his  chair,  takes  Harry  by  the  arm,  and  leading  him  to  the 
door  of  the  conservatory,  points  him  to  a  passage  leading 
to  the  right,  and  says :  "  In  there  ! — proceed  into  that 
passage,  enter  a  door,  first  door  on  the  left,  and  then  you 
will  find  something  you  may  consider  your  own." 

Harry  hesitated  for  a  moment,  watched  master's  coun 
tenance  doubtingly,  as  if  questioning  the  singular  command. 
"Pear  not!    nobody   will   hurt  you,"  continues   Eose- 
brook. 

"  Master  never  had  a  bad  intention,"  thinks  Harry  ;  "  I 
know  he  would  not  harm  me ;  and  then  missus  is  so  good. 
Slowly  and  nervously  he  proceeds,  and  on  reaching  the 
door  hears  a  familiar  "  come  in "  answering  his  nervous 
rap.  The  door  opened  into  a  neat  little  room,  with  carpet 
and  chairs,  a  mahogany  bureau  and  prints,  all  so  neatly 
arranged,  and  wearing  such  an  air  of  cleanliness.  No 
sooner  has  he  advanced  beyond  the  threshold  than  the 
emaciated  figure  of  a  black  sister  vaults  into  his  arms, 
crying,  "  Oh  Harry  !  Harry  !  Harry  ! — my  dear  husband  !" 
She  throws  her  arms  about  his  neck,  and  kisses,  and  kisses 
him,  and  buries  her  tears  of  joy  in  his  bosom.  How  she 
pours  out  her  soul's  love  ! — how,  in  rapturous  embraces, 
her  black  impulses  give  out  the  purest  affection ! 

"  And  you ! — you ! — you ! — my  own  dear  Jane !  Is  it 
you  ?  Has  Grod  commanded  us  to  meet  once  more,  to  be 
happy  once  more,  to  live  as  heaven  hath  ordained  us  to 
live  ?"  he  returns,  as  fervently  and  affectionately  he  holds  her 
in  his  arms,  and  returns  her  token  of  love.  "  Never  !  never  ! 
I  forget  you,  never !  By  night  and  by  day  I  have  prayed 
the  protecting  hand  of  Providence  to  guide  you  through 
life's  trials.  H»w  my  heart  has  yearned  to  meet  you  in 
heaven !  happy  am  I  we  have  met  once  more  on  earth ;  yea, 
my  soul  leaps  with  joy.  Forgive  them,  Father,  forgive 
them  who  separate  us  on  earth,  for  heaven  makes  the 
anointed!"  And  while  thev  embrace  thus  fondly,  their 
29 


444  HOW  WE  SHOULD  ALL  BE  FORGIVING. 

tears  mingling  with  joy,  children,  recognising  a  returned 
father  as  he  entered  the  door,  are  clinging  at  his  feet 
beseechingly.  He  is  their  father; — how  like  children  they 
love  !  "  Sam,  Sue,  and  Beckie,  too  !"  he  says,  as  one  by  one 
he  takes  them  in  his  arms  and  kisses  them.  But  there  are 
two  more,  sombre  and  strange.  He  had  caught  the  fourth 
in  his  arms,  unconsciously.  Ah,  Jane!"  he  exclaims,  turn 
ing  toward  her,  his  face  filled  with  grief  and  chagrin,  "  they 
are  not  of  me,  Jane!"  He  still  holds  the  little  innocent  by 
the  hand,  as  nervously  he  waits  her  reply.  It  is  not  guilt, 
but  shame,  with  which  she  returns  an  answer. 

"  It  was  not  my  sin,  Harry  !  It  was  him  that  forced 
me  to  live  with  another, — that  lashed  me  when  I  refused, 
and,  bleeding,  made  me  obey  the  will,"  she  returns,  looking 
at  him  imploringly.  Virtue  is  weaker  than  the  lash  ;  none 
feel  it  more  than  the  slave.  She  loved  Harry,  she  followed 
him  with  her  thoughts ;  but  it  was  the  Christian  that 
reduced  her  to  the  level  of  the  brute.  Laying  her  coloured 
hand  upon  his  shoulder,  she  besought  his  forgiveness,  as  God 
was  forgiving. 

"  Why  should  I  not  forgive  thee,  Jane  ?  I  would  not 
chide  thee,  for  no  sin  is  on  thy  garments.  Injustice  gave 
master  the  right  to  sell  thee,  to  make  of  thee  what  he 
pleased.  Heaven  made  thy  soul  purest, — man  thy  body 
an  outcast  for  the  unrighteous  to  feast  upon.  How  could  I 
withhold  forgiveness,  Jane  ?  I  will  be  a  father  to  them, 
a  husband  to  thee ;  for  what  thou  hast  been  compelled  to 
do  is  right,  in  the  land  we  live  in."  So  saying,  he  again 
embraces  her,  wipes  the  tears  from  her  eyes,  and  comforts 
her.  How  sweet  is  forgiveness  !  It  freshens  like  the  dew 
of  morning  on  the  drooping  plant ;  it  strengthens  the  weary 
spirit,  it  steals  into  the  desponding  soul,  and  wakes  to  life 
new  hopes  of  bliss, — to  the  slave  it  is  sweet  indeed ! 

"  I  will  kiss  them,  too,"  he  ejaculates,  taking  them  in  his 
arms  with  the  embrace  of  a  fond  father, — which  simple  ex 
pression  of  love  they  return  with  prattling.  They  know 
not  the  trials  of  their  parents ;  how  blessed  to  know 
them  not! 

And  now  they  gather  the  children  around  them,  and 
seat  themselves  on  a  little  settee  near  the  window,  where 
Harry,  overjoyed  at  meeting  his  dear  ones  once  more, 
fondles  them  and  listens  to  Jane,  as  with  her  left  arm  round 


HOW  WE  SHOULD  ALL  BE  FORGIVING*.  445 

his  neck  she  discloses  the  sad  tale  of  her  tribulation.  Let 
us  beg  the  reader  to  excuse  the  recital ;  there  is  nothing 
fascinating  in  it,  nor  would  we  call  forth  the  modest  blushes 
of  our  generous  south.  A  few  words  of  the  woman's  story, 
however,  we  cannot  omit ;  and  we  trust  the  forgiving  will 
pardon  their  insertion.  She  tells  Harry  she  was  not  separated 
from  her  children ;  but  that  Romescos,  having  well  con 
sidered  her  worth,  sold  her  with  her  "  young  uns"  to  the 

Rev.  Peter ,  who  had  a  small  plantation  down  in 

Christ's  Parish.  The  reverend  gentleman,  being  born  and 
educated  to  the  degrading  socialities  of  democratic  states, 
always  says  he  is  not  to  blame  for  "  using"  the  rights  the  law 
gives  him;  nor  does  he  forget  to  express  sundry  regrets  that  he 
cannot  see  as  preachers  at  the  north  see.  As  for  money,  he 
thinks  preachers  have  just  as  good  a  right  to  get  it  as  gentle 
men  of  any  other  honourable  profession.  Now  and  then  he 
preaches  to  niggers ;  and  for  telling  them  how  they  must 
live  in  the  fear  of  the  Lord,  be  obedient  to  their  master,  and 
pay  for  redemption  by  the  sweat  of  their  brows,  he  adds  to 
his  pile  of  coin.  But  he  is  strongly  of  the  opinion  that 
niggers  are  inferior  "brutes"  of  the  human  species,  and  in 
furtherance  of  this  opinion  (so  popular  in  the  whole  south) 
he  expects  them  to  live  a  week  on  a  peck  of  corn.  As  for 
Jane— we  must  excuse  the  reverend  gentleman,  because  of 
his  faith  in  southern  principles — he  compelled  her  to  live 
with  the  man  Absalom  ere  she  had  been  two  days  on  his 
plantation,  and  by  the  same  Absalom  she  had  two  children, 
which  materially  increased  the  cash  value  of  the  Reverend 

Peter  • 's    slave   property.     Indeed,   so   well  is  the 

reverend  gentleman  known  for  his  foul  play,  that  it  has 
been  thrown  up  to  him  in  open  court— by  wicked  planters 
who  never  had  the  fear  of  Grod  before  their  eyes— that  he 
more  than  half  starved  his  niggers,  and  charged  them  toll 
for  grinding  their  corn  in  his  mill.  Though  the  Reverend 
Peter never  failed  to  assure  his  friends  and  acquaint 
ances  of  his  generosity  (a  noble  quality  which  had  long  been 
worthily  maintained  by  the  ancient  family  to  which  he 
belonged),  the  light  of  one  generous  act  had  never  found 
its  way  to  the  public.  In  truth,  so  elastically  did  his  reve 
rend  conscientiousness  expand  when  he  learned  the  strange 
motive  which  prompted  Rosebrook  to  purchase  Jane  and 
her  little  ones,  that  he  sorely  regretted  he  had  not  put  two 


446         »      HOW  WE  SHOULD  ALL  BE 

hundred  dollars  more  on  the  price  of  the  lot.  Fortunately 
Jane  was  much  worn  down  by  grief  and  toil,  and  was 
viewed  by  the  reverend  gentleman  as  a  piece  of  property  he 
would  rather  like  to  dispose  of  to  the  best  advantage,  lest 
she  should  suddenly  make  a  void  in  his  dollars  and  cents  by 
sliding  into  some  out  of  the  way  grave-yard.  But  Hose- 
brook,  duly  appreciating  the  unchristian  qualities  of  our 
worthy  one's  generosity,  kept  his  motive  a  profound  secret 
until  the  riegociation  was  completed.  Now  that  it  had 

become    known   that  the    Reverend   Peter   (who 

dresses  in  blackest  black,  most  sanctimoniously  cut,  whitest 
neckcloth  wedded  to  his  holy  neck,  and  face  so  simply 
serious)  assures  Rosebrook  he  has  got  good  people, — they 
are  valuably  promising — he  will  pray  for  them,  that  the 
future  may  prosper  their  wayfaring.  He  cannot,  however, 
part  with  the  good  man  without  admonishing  him  how 
dangerous  it  is  to  give  uuto  "  niggers"  the  advantage  of  a 
superior  position. 

Reader,  let  us  hope  the  clergy  of  the  south  will  take  heed 
lest  by  permitting  their  brethren  to  be  sold  and  stolen  in 
this  manner  they  bring  the  profession  into  contempt. 
Let  us  hope  the  southern  church  will  not  much  longer 
continue  to  bring  pure  Christianity  into  disgrace  by  serving 
ends  so  vile  that  heaven  and  earth  frowns  upon  them ;  for 
false  is  the  voice  raised  in  sanctimony  to  heaven  for  power  to 
make  a  footstool  of  a  fallen  race ! 


CHAPTEE  XL. 

CONTAINING  VARIOUS  MATTEBS. 

G-REAT  regularity  prevails  on  the  Eosebrook  plantation,  and 
cheering  are  the  prospects  held  out  to  those  who  toil 
thereon.  Mrs.  Eosebrook  has  dressed  Jane  (Harry's  wife) 
in  a  nice  new  calico,  which,  with  her  feet  encased  in  shining 
calf- skin  shoes,  and  her  head  done  up  in  a  bandana,  with 
spots  of  great  brightness,  shows  her  lean  figure  to  good 
advantage.  Like  a  good  wife,  happy  with  her  own  dear 
husband,  she  pours  forth  the  emotions  of  a  grateful  heart, 
and  feels  that  the  world — not  so  bad  after  all — has  some 
thing  good  in  store  for  her.  And  then  Harry  looks  even 
better  than  he  did  on  Master  Marston's  plantation ;  and, 
with  their  little  ones— sable  types  of  their  parents — dressed 
so  neatly,  they  must  be  happy.  And  now  that  they  are 
duly  installed  at  the  plantation,  where  Harry  pursues  his 
duties  as  father  of  the  flock,  and  Jane  lends  her  cheering 
voice  and  helping  hand  to  make  comfort  in  the  various  cabins 
complete — and  with  Dad  Daniel's  assurance  that  the  people 
won't  go  astray — we  must  leave  them  for  a  time,  and  beg 
the  reader's  indulgence  wbile  following  us  through  another 
phase  of  the  children's  history. 

A  slave  is  but  a  slave — an  article  subject  to  all  the  fluc 
tuations  of  trade — a  mere  item  in  the  scale  of  traffic,  and 
reduced  to  serving  the  ends  of  avarice  or  licentiousness. 
This  is  a  consequence  inseparable  from  his  sale.  It  matters 
not  whether  the  blood  of  the  noblest  patriot  course  in 
his  veins,  his  hair  be  of  flaxen  brightness,  his  eyes  of  azure 
blue,his  skin  of  Norman  whiteness,  and  his  features  classic, — 
he  can  be  no  more  than  a  slave,  and  as  such  must  yield  to 
the  debasing  influences  of  an  institution  that  crushes  and 
curses  wherever  it  exists.  In  proof  of  this,  we  find  the 
bright  eyes  of  our  little  Annette,  glowing  with  kindliest 
love,  failing  to  thaw  the  frozen  souls  of  man-dealers.  Nay, 
bright  eyes  only  lend  their  aid  to  the  law  that  debases  her 
life.  She  has  become  valuable  only  as  a  finely  and  delicately 


448  VABIOTTS  MATTEBS. 

developed  woman,  whose  appearance    in  the  market  will 
produce   sharp  bidding,  and  a  deal  of  dollars  and  cents. 
Graspnm    never    lost    an    opportunity     of    trimming    up 
these  nice  pieces  of  female  property,  making  the  money 
invested  in  them  turn  the   largest  premium,   and  satisfying 
his  customers  that,  so  far  as  dealing  in  the  brightest  kind  of 
fancy  stock  was  concerned,  he  is  not  a  jot  behind  the  most 
careful   selecter   in  the    Charleston   market.     Major  John 
Bowling — who  is  very  distinguished,  having  descended  from 
the  very  ancient  family  of  that  name,  and  is  liighly  thought  of 
by  the  aristocracy — has  made  the  selection  of  such  mer 
chandise  his  particular  branch  of  study  for  more  than  four 
teen  years.     In  consequence  of  the  major's  supposed  taste, 
his  pen  was  hitherto  most  frequented  by  gentlemen  and 
connoisseur ;   but   now    Graspum   assures    all    respectable 
people,  gentlemen  of  acknowledged  taste,  and  young  men 
who  are  cultivating  their  way  up  in  the  world,   that   his 
selections  are  second  to  none ;  of  this  he  will  produce  suffi 
cient  proof,  provided  customers  will  make  him  a  call  and 
look  into  the  area  of  his  fold.      The  fold  itself  is  most  unin 
viting  (it  is,  he  assures  us,  owing  to  his  determination  to 
carry  out  the  faith  of  his  plain  democracy)  ;  nevertheless,  it 
contains  the  white,  beautiful,  and  voluptuous, —  all  for  sale. 
In  fact — the  truth  must  be  told — Mr.  Graspum  assures  the 
world   that  he  firmly  believes   there  is  a  sort  of  human 
nature  extant — he  is  troubled  sometimes  to  know  just  where 
the  line  breaks  off — which  ne^er  by  any  possibility  could 
have  been  intended  for  any  thing  but  the  other  to  traffic  in — 
to  turn  into  the  most  dollars  and  cents.     In  proof  of  this 
principle  he  kept  Annette  until  she  had  well  nigh  merged 
into  womanhood,  or  until  such  time  as  she  became  a  choice 
marketable  article,  with  eyes  worth  so  much  ;  nose,  mouth, 
so  much ;   pretty  auburn  hair,  worth  so  much ;    and  line 
rounded   figure — with   all   its   fascinating   appurtenances- 
worth  so  much  ; — the  whole  amounting  to  so  much  ;  to  be 
sold  for  so  much,  the  nice  little  profit  being  chalked  down 
on  the  credit  side  of  his  formidable  ledger,  in  which  stands 
recorded  against  his  little  soul  (he  knows  will  get  to  heaven) 
the  sale  of  ten  thousand  black  souls,  which  will  shine  in 
brightness  when  his  is  refused  admittance  to  the  portals 
above. 
v    Having  arrived  at  the  point  most  marketable,  he  sells  her 


VARIOUS  MATTEBS.  449 

to  Mr.  Q-urdoin  Choicewest,  who  pays  no  less  a  sum  than 
sixteen  hundred  dollars  in  hard  cash  for  the  unyielding 
beauty— money  advanced  to  him  by  his  dear  papa,  who  had 
no  objection  to  his  having  a  pretty  coloured  girl,  provided 
Madam  Choicewest — most  indulgent  mother  she  was,  too — 

gave  her  consent ;  and  she  said  she  was  willing,  provided ; 

and  now,  notwithstanding  she  was  his  own,  insisted  on  the 
preservation  of  her  virtue,  or  death.  Awful  dilemma,  this ! 
To  lash  her  will  be  useless ;  and  the  few  kicks  she  has 
already  received  have  not  get  begun  to  thaw  her  frozen 
determination.  Such  an  unyielding  thing  is  quite  useless 
for  the  purpose  for  which  young  Choicewest  purchased  her. 
What  must  be  done  with  her  ?  The  older  Choicewest  is 
consulted,  and  gives  it  as  his  decided  opinion  that  there  is 
one  of  two  things  the  younger  Choicewest  must  do  with 
this  dear  piece  of  property  he  has  so  unfortunately  got  on 
his  hands, — he  must  sell  her,  or  tie  her  up  every  day  and 
pump  her  with  cold  water,  say  fifteen  minutes  at  a  time. 
Pumping  niggers,  the  elder  Mr.  Choicewest  remarks,  with 
the  coolness  of  an  Austrian  diplomatist,  has  a  wondrous 
eifect  upon  them  ;  "  it  makes  'em  give  in  when  nothing  else 
will."  He  once  had  four  prime  fellows,  who,  in  stubbornness, 
seemed  a  match  for  Mr.  Beelzebub  himself.  He  lashed 
them,  and  he  burned  them,  and  he  clipped  their  ears ;  and 
then  he  stretched  them  on  planks,  thinking  they  would  cry 
"  give  in"  afore  the  sockets  of  their  joints  were  drawn  out ; 
but  it  was  all  to  no  purpose,  they  were  as  unyielding  as 
granite. 

About  that  time  there  was  a  celebrated  manager  of  ne 
groes  keeping  the  prison.  This  clever  functionary  had  a 
peculiar  way  of  bringing  the  stubbornness  out  of  them  ;  so  he 
consigned  the  four  unbending  rascals  to  his  skill.  And  this 
very  valuable  and  very  skilful  gaol-keeper  had  a  large  window 
in  his  establishment,  with  iron  bars  running  perpendicular ; 
to  the  inside  of  which  he  would  strap  the  four  stubborn 
rascals,  with  their  faces  scientifically  arranged  between  the 
bars,  to  prevent  the  moving  of  a  muscle.  Thus  caged,  their 
black  heads  bound  to  the  grating,  the  scientific  gaoler,  who 
was  something  of  a  humourist  withal,  would  enjoy  a  nice 
bit  of  fun  at  seeing  the  more  favoured  prisoners  (with  his 
kind  permission)  exercise  their  dexterity  in  throwing  peas 
at  the  faces  of  the  bounden.  How  he  would  laugh — how 


450  VAEIOUS  MATTERS. 

the  pea-punishing  prisoners  would  enjoy  it — how  the  fast 
bound  niggers,  foaming  with  rage  and  maddened  to  despe 
ration,  would  bellow,  as  their  very  eyeballs  darted  fire  and 
blood !  What  grand  fun  it  was !  bull-baiting  sank  into  a 
mere  shadow  beside  it.  The  former  was  measuredly  passive, 
because  the  bull  only  roared,  and  pitched,  and  tossed ; 
whereas  here  the  sport  was  made  more  exhilarating  by  ex 
pressions  of  vengeance  or  implorings.  And  then,  as  a 
change  of  pastime,  the  skilful  gaoler  would  demand  a  cessa 
tion  of  the  pea  hostilities,  and  enjoin  the  commencement  of 
the  water  war  ;  which  said  war  was  carried  out  by  supplying 
about  a  dozen  prisoners  with  as  many  buckets,  which  they 
would  fill  with  great  alacrity,  and,  in  succession,  throw  the 
contents  with  great  force  over  the  unyielding,from  the  outside. 
The  effect  of  this  on  naked  men,  bound  with  chains  to  iron 
bars,  may  be  imagined;  but  the  older  Choicewest  declares  it  was 
a  cure.  It  brought  steel  out  of  the  "  rascals,"  and  made  them 
as  submissive  as  shoe-strings.  Sometimes  the  jolly  prisoners 
would  make  the  bath  so  strong,  that  the  niggers  would  seem 
completely  drowned  when  released ;  but  then  they'd  soon 
come  to  with  a  jolly  good  rolling,  a  little  hartshorn  applied 
to  their  nostrils,  and  the  like  of  that.  About  a  dozen  times 
putting  through  the  pea  and  water  process  cured  them. 

So  says  the  very  respectable  Mr.  Choicewest,  with  great 
dignity  of  manners,  as  he  seriously  advises  the  younger 
Choicewest  to  try  a  little  quantity  of  the  same  sort  on  his 
now  useless  female  purchase.  Lady  Choicewest  must,  how 
ever,  be  consulted  on  this  point,  as  she  is  very  particular 
about  the  mode  in  which  all  females  about  her  establish 
ment  are  chastised.  Indeed,  Lady  Choicewest  is  much 
concerned  about  the  only  male  heir  of  the  family,  to  whom 
she  looks  forward  for  very  distinguished  results  to  the  family 
name.  The  family  (Lady  Choicewest  always  assures  those 
whom  she  graciously  condescends  to  admit  into  the  fashion 
able  precincts  of  her  small  but  very  select  circle),  descended 
from  the  very  ancient  and  chivalric  house  of  that  name, 
whose  celebrated  estate  was  in  "Warwickshire,  England ;  and, 
in  proof  of  this,  my  Lady  Choicewest  invariably  points  to  a 
sad  daub,  illustrative  of  some  incomprehensible  object,  sus 
pended  over  the  antique  mantelpiece.  With  methodical 
grace,  and  dignity  which  frowns  with  superlative  contempt 
upon  every  thing  very  vulgar- for  she  says  "  she  sublimely  de» 


VABIOU8  MATTEBS.  451 

tests  them  very  low  creatures  what  are  never  brought  up  to 
manners  at  the  north,  and  are  worse  than  haystacks  to  lam 
civility" — my  lady  solicits  a  near  inspection  of  this  wonder 
ful  hieroglyphic,  which  she  tells  us  is  the  family  arms, — an 
ancient  and  choice  bit  of  art  she  would  not  part  with  for  the 
world.  If  her  friends  evince  any  want  of  perception  in 
tracing  the  many  deeds  of  valour  it  heralds,  on  behalf  of  the 
noble  family  of  which  she  is  an  undisputed  descendant,  my 
lady  will  at  once  enter  upon  the  task  of  instruction  ;  and 
with  the  beautiful  fore-finger  of  her  right  hand,  always 
jewelled  with  great  brilliancy,  will  she  satisfactorily  enlighten 
the  stupid  on  the  fame  of  the  ancient  Choicewest  family, 
thereon  inscribed.  With  no  ordinary  design  on  the  credu 
lity  of  her  friends,  Lady  Choicewest  has  several  times 
strongly  intimated  that  she  was  not  quite  sure  that  one  or 
two  of  her  ancestors  in  the  male  line  of  the  family  were  not 
reigning  dukes  as  far  down  as  the  noble  reign  of  the  ignoble 
Oliver  Cromwell !  The  question,  nevertheless,  is  whether 
the  honour  of  the  ancient  Choicewest  family  descended  from 
Mr.  or  Mrs.  Choicewest.  The  vulgar  mass  have  been 
known  to  say  (smilingly)  that  Lady  Choicewest's  name  was 
Brown,  the  father  of  which  very  ancient  family  sold  herrings 
and  small  pigs  at  a  little  stand  in  the  market :  this,  however, 
was  a  very  long  time  ago,  and,  as  my  lady  is  known  to  be 
troubled  with  an  exceedingly  crooked  memory,  persons 
better  acquainted  with  her  are  more  ready  to  accept  the 
oblivious  excuse. 

Taking  all  these  things  into  consideration,  my  Lady 
Choicewest  is  exceedingly  cautious  lest  young  G-ourdoin 
Choicewest  should  do  aught  to  dishonour  the  family  name  ; 
and  on  this  strange  perplexity  in  winch  her  much  indulged 
son  is  placed  being  referred  to  her,  she  gives  it  as  her  most 
decided  opinion  that  the  wench,  if  as  obstinate  as  described, 
had  better  be  sold  to  the  highest  bidder — the  sooner  the 
better.  My  lady  lays  great  emphasis  on  "  the  sooner  the 
better."  That  something  will  be  lost  she  has  not  the  slightest 
doubt ;  but  then  it  were  better  to  lose  a  little  in  the  price 
of  the  stubborn  wretch,  than  to  have  her  always  creating 
disturbance  about  the  genteel  premises.  In  furtherance  of 
this— my  lady's  mandate — Annette  is  sold  to  Mr.  Blackmore 
Blackett  for  the  nice  round  sum  of  fifteen  hundred  dollars. 
Gourdoin  Choicewest  hates  to  part  with  the  beauty,  grieves 


452  VAEIOUS  MATTEBS. 

and  regrets, — she  is  so  charmingly  fascinating.  "  Must  let 
her  slide,  though  ;  critter  won't  do  at  all  as  I  wants  her  to," 
he  lisps,  regretting  the  serious  loss  of  the  dollars.  His 
friend  Blackraore  Blackett,  however,  is  a  gentleman,  and 
therefore  he  would  not  deceive  him  in  the  wench :  hence  he 
makes  the  reduction,  because  he  finds  her  decidedly  faulty. 
Had  Blackmore  Blackett  been  a  regular  flesh  trader,  he  would 
not  have  scrupled  to  take  him  in.  As  it  is,  gentlemen  must 
always  be  gentlemen  among  themselves.  Blackett,  a  gentle 
man  of  fortune,  who  lives  at  his  ease  in  the  city,  and  has  the 
very  finest  taste  for  female  beauty,  was  left,  most  unfortu 
nately,  a  widower  with  four  lovely  daughters,  any  one  of 
which  may  be  considered  a  belle  not  to  be  rung  by  gentlemen 
of  ordinary  rank  or  vulgar  pretension.  In  fact,  the  Blackett 
girls  are  considered  very  fine  specimens  of  beauty,  are  much 
admired  in  society,  and  expect  ere  long,  on  the  clear  merit 
of  polish,  to  rank  equal  with  the  first  aristocracy  of  the 
place. 

Mr.  Blackmore  Blackett  esteems  himself  an  extremely 
lucky  fellow  in  having  so  advantageously  procured  such  a 
nice  piece  of  property, — so  suited  to  his  taste.  Her  price, 
when  compared  with  her  singularly  valuable  charms,  is  a  mere 
nothing ;  and,  too,  all  his  fashionable  friends  will  congra 
tulate  him  upon  his  good  fortune.  But  as  disappointments 
will  come,  so  Mr.  Blackmore  Blackett  finds  he  has  got  some 
thing  not  quite  so  valuable  as  anticipated ;  however,  being 
something  of  a  philosopher,  he  will  improve  upon  the  course 
pursued  by  the  younger  Choicewest :  he  makes  his  first  ad 
vances  with  great  caution ;  whispers  words  of  tenderness  in 
her  ear;  tells  her  his  happy  jewel  for  life  she  must  be.  Kemem- 
bering  her  mother,  she  turns  a  deaf  ear  to  Mr.  Blackett's 
pleadings.  The  very  cabin  which  he  has  provided  for  her  in 
the  yard  reminds  her  of  that  familiar  domicile  on  Marston's 
plantation.  Neither  by  soft  pleadings,  nor  threatenings  of 
sale  to  plantation  life,  nor  terrors  of  the  lash,  can  he  soften 
the  creature's  sympathies,  so  that  the  flesh  may  succumb. 
When  he  whispered  soft  words  and  made  fascinating  pro 
mises,  she  would  shake  her  head  and  move  from  him  ;  when 
he  threatened,  she  would  plead  her  abject  position  ;  when 
he  resorted  to  force,  she  would  struggle  with  him,  making 
the  issue  her  virtue  or  death.  Once  she  paid  the  penalty  of 
her  struggles  with  a  broken  wrist,  which  she  shows  us  more 


VARIOUS  MATTERS.  453 

in  sorrow  than  anger.  Annette  is  beautiful  but  delicate ; 
has  soft  eyes  beaming  with  the  fulness  of  a  great  soul ;  but 
they  were  sold,  once, — now,  sympathy  for  her  is  dead.  The 
law  gives  her  no  protection  for  her  virtue  ;  the  ruffian  may 
violate  it,  and  Heaven  only  can  shelter  it  with  forgiveness. 
As  for  Blackett,  he  has  no  forgiveness  in  his  temperament, — 
passion  soars  highest  with  him ;  he  would  slay  with  violent 
hands  the  minion  who  dared  oppose  its  triumph. 

About  this  time,  Mi'.  Blackett,  much  to  his  surprise,  finds 
a  storm  of  mischief  brewing'  about  his  domestic  domain. 
The  Miss  Blacketts,  dashing  beauties,  have  had  it  come 
to  their  ears  over  and  over  again  that  all  the  young  men 
about  the  city  say  Annette  Mazatlin  (as  she  is  now  called) 
is  far  more  beautiful  than  any  one  of  the  Blacketts.  This 
is  quite  enough  to  kindle  the  elements  of  a  female  war. 
In  the  south  nothing  can  spread  the  war  of  jealousy  and 
vanity  with  such  undying  rage  as  comparing  slave  beauty 
with  that  of  the  more  favoured  of  the  sexes.  A  firman  of 
the  strongest  kind  is  now  issued  from  the  portfolio  of  the 
Miss  Blacketts,  forbidding  the  wretched  girl  entering  the 
house  ;  and  storms  of  abuse  are  plentifully  and  very  cheaply 
lavished  on  her  heavd,  ere  she  puts  it  outside  the  cabin.  She 
was  a  nasty,  impudent  hussy  ;  the  very  worst  of  ail  kind  of 
creatures  to  have  about  a  respectable  mansion, — enough  to 
shock  respectable  people !  The  worst  of  it  was,  that  the 
miserable  white  nigger  thought  she  was  handsome,  and  a 
lot  of  young,  silly-headed  men  flattered  her  vanity  by  telling 
the  fool  she  was  prettier  than  the  Blacketts  themselves, — 
so  said  the  very  accomplished  Miss  Blacketts.  And  if  ever 
domicile  was  becoming  too  warm  for  man  to  live  in,  in  con 
sequence  of  female  indignation,  that  one  was  Mr.  Blackmore 
Blackett's.  It  was  not  so  much  that  the  father  had 
purchased  this  beautiful  creature  to  serve  fiendish  purposes. 
Oh  no  ! — that  was  a  thing  of  every-day  occurrence, — 
something  excusable  in  any  respectable  man's  family.  It 
was  beauty  rivalling,  fierce  and  jealous  of  its  compliments. 
Again,  the  wretch — found  incorrigible,  and  useless  for  the 
purpose  purchased — is  sold.  Poor,  luckless  maiden !  she 
might  add,  as  she  passed  through  the  hands  of  so  many 
purchasers.  This  time,  however,  she  is  less  valuable  from 
having  fractured  her  left  wrist,  deformity  being  always 
taken  into  account  wh«.  such  property  is  up  at  the  flesh 


454  YABIOUS  MATTEES. 

shambles.  But  Mr.  Blackmore  Blackett  has  a  delicacy 
about  putting  her  up  under  the  hammer  just  now,  inasmuch, 
as  he  could  not  say  she  was  sold  for  no  fault;  while  th< 
disfigured  wrist  might  lead  to  suspicious  remarks  concerning 
his  treatment  of  her.  Another  extremely  unfortunate 
circumstance  was  its  getting  all  about  the  city  that  she  was 
a  cold,  soulless  thing,  who  declared  that  sooner  than  yield 
to  be  the  abject  wretch  men  sought  to  make  her,  she  would 
die  that  only  death.  She  had  but  one  life,  and  it  were  better 
to  yield  that  up  virtuously  than  die  degraded.  Graspum,  then, 
is  the  only  safe  channel  in  which  to  dispose  of  the  like.  That 
functionary  assures  Mr.  Blackmore  Blackett  that  the  girl  is 
beautiful,  delicate,  and  an  exceedingly  sweet  creature  yet ! 
but  that  during  the  four  months  she  has  depreciated  more 
than  fifty  per  cent  in  value.  His  remarks  may  be  consi 
dered  out  of  place,  but  they  are  none  the  less  true, 
for  it  is  ascertained,  on  private  examination,  that  sundry 
stripes  have  been  laid  about  her  bare  loins.  Gurdoin 
Choicewest  declared  to  his  mother  that  he  never  for  once 
had  laid  violent  hands  on  the  obstinate  wench ;  Mr. 
Blackmore  Blackett  stood  ready  to  lay  his  hand  on  the  Bible, 
and  lift  his  eyes  to  heaven  for  proof  of  his  innocence  ;  but 
a  record  of  the  infliction,  indelible  of  blood,  remained  there 
to  tell  its  sad  tale, — to  shame,  if  shame  had  aught  in 
slavery  whereon  to  make  itself  known.  Notwithstanding 
this  bold  denial,  it  is  found  that  Mr.  Blackmore  Blackett 
did  on  two  occasions  strip  her  and  secure  her  hands  and 
feet  to  the  bed-post,  where  he  put  on  "  about  six  at  a  time," 
remarkably  "  gently."  He  admired  her  symmetrical  forn^her 
fine,  white,  soft,  smooth  skin — her  voluptuous  limbs,  so 
beautifully  and  delicately  developed ;  and  then  there  was  so 
much  gushing  sweetness,  mingled  with  grief,  in  her  face,  as 
she  cast  her  soft  glances  upon  him,  and  implored  him  to  end 
her  existence,  or  save  her  such  shame !  Such,  he  says, 
laconically,  completely  disarmed  him,  and  he  only  switched 
her  a  few  times. 

"  She's  not  worth  a  dot  more  than  a  thousand  dollars. 
I  couldn't  give  it  for  her,  because  I  couldn't  make  it  out  on 
her.  The  fact  is,  she'll  get  a  bad  name  by  passing  through 
BO  many  hands — a  deuced  bad  name  !"  says  Graspum,  whose 
commercial  language  is  politically  cold.  "  And  then  there's 
her  broken  wrist — doubtful !  doifttful !  doubtful !  what  I 


VARIOUS  MATTEB8.  465 

can  do  with  her.  For  a  plantation  she  isn't  worth  seven 
coppers,  and  sempstresses  and  housemaids  of  her  kind  are 
looked  on  suspiciously.  It's  only  with  great  nicety  of  skill 
ye  can  work  such  property  to  advantage,"  he  continues, 
viewing  her  in  one  of  Mr.  Blackmore  Blackett' s  ante-rooms. 

The  upshot  of  the  matter  is,  that  Mr.  Blackmore  Blackett 
accepts  the  offer,  and  Graspum,  having  again  taken  the 
damaged  property  under  his  charge,  sends  it  back  to  his  pen. 
As  an  offset  for  the  broken  wrist,  she  has  three  new  dresses, 
two  of  which  were  presented  by  the  younger  Choicewest, 
and  one  by  the  .generous  Blackmore  Blackett. 

Poor  Annette  !  she  leaves  for  her  home  in  the  slave-pen, 
sad  at  heart,  and  in  tears.  "  My  mother !  Oh,  that  I  had  a 
mother  to  love  me,  to  say  Annette  so  kindly, — to  share 
with  me  my  heart's  bitter  anguish.  How  I  could  love 
Nicholas,  now  that  there  is  no  mother  to  love  me !"  she 
mutters  as  she  sobs,  wending  her  way  to  that  place  of 
earthly  torment.  How  different  are  the  feelings  of  the 
oppressor.  He  drinks  a  social  glass  of  wine  with  his  friend 
Blackett,  lights  his  cigar  most  fashionably,  bids  him  a  polite 
good  morning,  and  intimates  that  a  cheque  for  the  amount 
of  the  purchase  will  be  ready  any  time  he  may  be  pleased 
to  call.  And  now  he  wends  his  way  homeward,  little 
imagining  what  £ood  fortune  awaits  him  at  the  pen  to  which 
he  has  despatched  his  purchase. 

Annette  has  reached  the  pen,  in  which  she  sits,  pensively, 
holding  her  bonnet  by  the  strings,  the  heavy  folds  of  her 
light  auburn  hair  hanging  dishevelled  over  her  shoulders. 
Melancholy  indeed  she  is,  for  she  has  passed  an  ordeal  of 
unholy  brutality.  Near  her  sits  one  Pringle  Blowers,  a  man  of 
coarse  habits,  who  resides  on  his  rice-plantation,  a  few  miles 
from  the  city,  into  which  he  frequently  comes,  much  to  the 
annoyance  of  quietly  disposed  citizens  and  guardsmen,  who 
are  not  unfrequently  called  upon  to  preserve  the  peace  he 
threatens  to  disturb.  Dearly  does  he  love  his  legitimate 
brandy,  and  dearly  does  it  make  him  pay  for  the  insane 
frolics  it  incites  him  to  perpetrate,  to  the  profit  of  certain 
saloons,  and  danger  of  persons.  Madman  under  the 
influence  of  his  favourite  drink,  a  strange  pride  besets  his 
faculties,  which  is  only  appeased  with  the  demolition  of 
glass  and  men's  faces.  For  this  strange  amusement  he  has 
become  famous  and  feared ;  and  as  the  light  of  his  own 


456  VAEIOtIS  MATTEBS. 

besotted  countenance  makes  its  appearance,  citizens  generally 
are  not  inclined  to  interpose  any  obstacle  to  the  exercise  ol 
his  belligerent  propensities. 

Here  he  sits,  viewing  Annette  with  excited  scrutiny. 
Never  before  has  he  seen  anything  so  pretty,  so  bright,  so 
fascinating — all  clothed  with  a  halo  of  modesty — for  sale 
in  the  market.  The  nigger  is  completely  absorbed  in  the 
beauty,  he  mutters  to  himself:  and  yet  she  must  be  a  nigger 
or  she  would  not  be  here.  That  she  is  an  article  of  sale, 
then,  there  can  be  no  doubt.  "  Van,  yer  the  nicest  gal  I've 
seen!  Reckon  how  Grasp,  paid  a  tall  shot  for  ye,  eh  ?"  he 
says,  in  the  exuberance  of  his  fascinated  soul.  He  will  draw 
nearer  to  her,  toss  her  undulating  hair,  playfully,  and  with 
seeming  unconsciousness  draw  his  brawny  hand  across  her 
bosom.  "Didn't  mean  it!"  he  exclaims,  contorting  his 
broad  red  face,  as  she  puts  out  her  hand,  presses  him  from 
her,  and  disdains  his  second  attempt.  "  Pluck,  I  reckon  ! 
needn't  put  on  mouths,  though,  when  a  feller's  only 
quizzin."  He  shrugs  his  great  round  shoulders,  and  rolla 
his  wicked  eyes. 

"  I  am  not  for  you,  man  !"  she  interrupts  :  "  I  would  scorn 
you,  were  I  not  enslaved,"  she  continues,  a  curl  of  contempt 
on  her  lip,  as  her  very  soul  kindles  with  grief.  Rising 
quickly  from  his  side  she  walked  across  the^pen,  and  seated 
herself  on  the  opposite  side.  Here  she  casts  a  frowning 
look  upon  him,  as  if  loathing  his  very  presence.  This,  Mr. 
Pringle  Blowers  don't  altogether  like :  slaves  have  no  right 
to  look  loathingly  on  white  people.  His  flushed  face  glows 
red  with  excitement ;  he  runs  his  brawny  fingers  through 
the  tufted  mats  of  short  curly  hair  that  stand  almost  erect 
on  his  head,  draws  his  capacious  jaws  into  a  singular  angle, 
and  makes  a  hideous  grimace. 

The  terrified  girl  has  no  answer  to  make  ;  she  is  a  forlorn 
outcast  of  democracy's  rule.  He  takes  the  black  ribbon 
from  round  his  neck,  bares  his  bosom  more  broadly  than 
before,  throws  the  plaid  sack  in  which  he  is  dressed  from 
off  him,  and  leaping  as  it  were  across  the  room,  seizes 
her  in  his  arms.  "  Kisses  are  cheap,  I  reckon,  and  a  feller 
what  don't  have  enough  on  'em  's  a  fool,"  he  ejaculates,  as 
with  a  desperate  struggle  she  bounds  from  his  grasp,  seizes 
th'3  knife  from  a  negro's  hand  as  she  passes  him,  and  is 
about  to  plunge  the  shining  steel  into  her  breast.  "  Oh, 


VARIOUS  MATTERS.  457 

mother,  mother  ! — what  have  I  done  ? — is  not  God  my 
Saviour  ? — has  he  forsaken  me  ? — left  me  a  prey  to  those 
who  seek  my  life  ?" 

"  I  settle  those  things,"  said  a  voice  in  the  reai-,  and  im 
mediately  a  hand  grasped  her  arm,  and  the  knife  fell 
carelessly  upon  the  floor.  It  was  G-raspum  ;  the  sudden  sur 
prise  overcame  her;  she  sank  back  in  his  arms,  and  swooned. 
"  She  swoons, — how  limber,  how  lifeless  she  seems  !"  says 
Graspum,  as  with  great  coolness  he  calls  a  negro  attendant, 
orders  him  to  remove  her  to  the  grass  plat,  and  bathe  her 
well  with  cold  water.  "  A  good  dowsing  of  water  is  the 
cure  for  fainting  niggers,"  he  concludes. 

The  black  man  takes  her  in  his  arms,  and  with  great  kind 
ness,  lays  her  on  the  plat,  bathes  her  temples,  loosens  her 
dress,  and  with  his  rough  hand  manipulates  her  arms.  How 
soft  and  silky  they  seem  to  his  touch  !  "  Him  hard  to  slave 
ye,  miss,"  he  says,  laying  his  hand  upon  her  temples,  gently, 
as  witb  commiseration  he  looks  intently  on  her  pallid 
features. 

"  Now,  Blowers,"  says  Graspum,  as  soon  as  they  are  by 
themselves,  "  what  in  the  name  of  the  Gentiles  have  you 
been  up  to  ?" 

"  Wai — can't  say  its  nothin,  a' cos  that  wouldn't  do. 
But,  ye  see,  the  critter  made  my  mouth  water  so  ;  there  was 
no  standin  on't !  And  I  wanted  to  be  civil,  and  she 
wouldn't, — and  I  went  t'  fumlin  with  her  hair  what 
looked  so  inviting,  as  there  was  'no  resistin  on't,  and  she 
looked  just  as  sassy  as  sixty ;  and  to  stun  the  whole,  when 
i  only  wanted  to  kiss  them  ar'  temptin  lips,  the  fool  was 
goin  to  kill  herself.  It  wasn't  how  1  cared  two 
buttons  about  it ;  but  then  the  feelin  just  came  over  me  at 
the  time,"  he  answers,  shaking  his  huge  sides,  giving 
Graspum  a  significant  wmk,  and  laughing  heartily. 

"  Never  at  a  loss,  I  see  !"  returns  the  other,  nodding  his 
head,  pertinently  :  "  If  I  didn't  know  ye,  Blowers,  that  might 
go  down  without  sticking." 

"Ye  don't  tell  where  ye  raised  that  critter,  eh  ?"  he 
interrupts,  inquisitively,  pointing  his  thumb  over  his  right 
shoulder,  and  crooking  his  finger,  comically. 

"liaised  her  with  shiners — lots  on  'em!"  he  rejoins,  pushing 
Mr.  Pringle  Blowers  in  the  stomach,  playfully,  with  his  fore 
finger. 


VARIOUS  MATTERS. 

"  Graspum  !  yer  a  wicked  'uu." 

"  Suit  ye,  kind  'a — eh,  Blowers  ?"  he  rejoins,  enquiringly, 
maintaining  great  gravity  of  manner  as  he  watches  each 
change  of  Blowers'  countenance. 

Blowers  laughs  in  reply.  His  laugh  has  something 
sardonic  in  it,  seeming  more  vicious  as  he  opens  his 
great  wicked  mouth,  and  displays  an  ugly  row  of  coloured 
teeth. 

"  Sit  down,  Blowers,  sit  down !"  says  Graspum,  motioning 
his  hand,  with  a  studied  politeness.  The  two  gentlemen 
take  seats  side  by  side,  on  a  wooden  bench,  stretched  across 
the  centre  of  the  pen,  for  negroes  to  sit  upon.  "  As  I  live, 
Blowers,  thar  ain't  another  individual  like  you  in  the 
county.  You  can  whip  a  file  of  common  guardsmen,  put  the 
Mayor's  court  through  a  course  of  affronts,  frighten  all  the 
females  out  of  the  fashionable  houses,  treat  a  regiment  of 
volunteers,  drink  a  bar-room  dry- •" 

"  Compliments  thick,  long  and  strong,"  interposes 
Blowers,  winking  and  wiping  his  mouth.  "  Can  elect  half 
the  members  of  the  assembly  !"  he  concludes. 

"  True !  nevertheless,"  rejoins  Graspum,  "  a  great  man 
cannot  be  flattered — compliments  are  his  by  merit !  And 
the  city  knows  you're  a  man  of  exquisite  taste." 

Blowers  interrupts  with  a  loud  laugh,  as  he  suggests  the 
propriety  of  seeing  the  "  gal  get  round  again." 

"  Not  so  fast,  Blowers ;  not  so  fast !"  Graspum  ejacu 
lates,  as  Blowers  is  about  to  rise  from  his  seat  and  follow 
Annette. 

"  "Well,  now  !"  returns  Blowers,  remaining  seated, "  Might 
just  as  well  come  square  to  the  mark, — ye  want  to  sell  me 
that  wench  ?" 

"  Truth's  truth !"  he  replies.  "  Blowers  is  the  man  who's 
got  the  gold  to  do  it." 

"  Name  yer  price;  and  no  rounding  the  corners!"  ex 
claims  Blowers,  his  countenance  quickening  with  animation. 
He  takes  Graspum  by  the  arm  with  his  left  hand,  turns  him 
half  round,  and  waits  for  a  reply. 

Seeing  it's  Blowers,  (the  keen  business  man  replies,  in 
an  oft-hand  manner),  who's  a  trump  in  his  way,  and  don't 
care  for  a  few  dollars,  he'll  take  seventeen  hundred  for  her, 
tin  down  ;  not  a  fraction  less !  He  will  have  no  bantering, 
inasmuch  as  his  friends  all  know  that  he  has  but  one  price 


YAJIIOTJS  MATTERS.  459 

for  niggers,  from  which  it  is  no  use  to  seek  a  discount.  Mr. 
Blowers,  generally  a  good  judge  of  such  articles,  would 
like  one  more  view  at  it  before  fully  making  up  his  mind. 
Graspum  calls  "  Oh,  boy  !"  and  the  negro  making  his 
appearance,  says  :  "  Dat  gal  'um  all  right  agin  ;  went  mos 
asleep,  but  am  right  as  parched  pea  now." 

"  Have  her  coming,"  he  returns,  facing  Blowers. 
"Nothing  the  matter  with  that  gal,"  he  exclaims,  touching 
his  elbow.  It  is  merely  one  of  her  flimsy  fits ;  she  hasn't 
quite  come  to  maturity." 

Slowly  the  negro  leads  her,  weeping  (Graspum  says  they 
will  cry — it's  natural !)  into  the  presence  of  the  far-famed 
and  much-feared  Mr.  Pringle  Blowers.  Her  hair  hangs 
carelessly  about  her  neck  and  shoulders,  the  open  incision  of 
her  dress  discloses  a  neatly  worked  stomacher  ;  how  sweetly 
glows  the  melancholy  that  broods  over  her  countenance ! 
"  I'll  take  her — I'll  take  her !"  exclaims  Blowers,  in  spas 
modic  ecstasy. 

"  I  know'd  you  would  ;  I'll  suit  you  to  a  charm,"  rejoins 
the  man  of  trade,  laconically,  as  the  negro  steps  a  few  feet 
backward,  and  watches  the  process.  "  Considers  it  a  trade," 
is  the  reply  of  Blowers,  as  he  orders  his  waggon  to  be 
brought  to  the  door. 

"  Oh !  master,  master !  save  me — save  me  !  and  let  me 
die  in  peace.  Don't,  good  master,  don't  sell  me  again !" 
Thus  saying  she  falls  on  her  knees  at  Grraspum's  feet,  and 
with  hands  uplifted  beseeches  him  to  save  her  from  the 
hands  of  a  man  whose  very  sight  she  loathes.  She  reads  the 
man's  character  in  his  face ;  she  knows  too  well  the  hellish 
purpose  for  which  he  buys  her.  Bitter,  bitter,  are  the 
tears  of  anguish  she  sheds  at  his  feet,  deep  and  piercing  are 
her  bemoanings.  Again  her  soft,  sorrowing  eyes  wander  in 
prayer  to  heaven :  as  Graspum  is  a  husband,  a  brother,  and 
a  father, — whose  children  are  yet  in  the  world's  travel  of  un 
certainty,  she  beseeches  him  to  save  her  from  that  man. 

"Don't  be  mad,  girl,"  he  says,  pushing  her. hand 
from  him. 

"  Frightened,  eh  ?  Make  ye  love  me,  yet !  "Why,  gal, 
ye  never  had  such  a  master  in  the  world  as  I'll  be  to  ye. 
I  lay  I  makes  a  lady  on  ye,  and  lets  ye  have  it  all  yer  own 
way,  afore  a  fortnight,"  he  rejoins,  spreading  his  brawny 
arms  over  her,  as  she,  in  an  attitude  of  fright,  vaults  from 
30 


460  VABIO1TS  MATTERS. 

beneath  them,  and,  uttering  a  faint  cry,  glides  crouching  into 
a  corner  of  the  pen.  There  is  no  protection  for  her  now ; 
her  weepings  and  implorings  fall  harmless  on  the  slave- 
dealer's  ears ;  heaven  will  protect  her  when  earth  knows 
her  no  more ! 

"  There's  two  can  play  a  game  like  that,  gal !"  exclaims 
Blowers.  "Hough  play  like  that  don't  do  with  this  ere 
citizen.  Can  just  take  the  vixen  out  on  a  dozen  on  ye  as 
what  don't  know  what's  good  for  'em."  Blowers  is  evidently 
allowing  his  temper  to  get  the  better  of  him.  He  stands  a 
few  feet  from  her,  makes  grim  his  florid  face,  gesticulates 
his  hands,  and  daringly  advances  toward  her  as  the  negro 
announces  the  arrival  of  his  waggon. 

"  You  must  go  with  him,  girl ;  stop  working  yourself  into 
a  fever  ;  stop  it,  I  say,"  interposes  Grraspum,  peremptorily. 
"  The  waggon  !  the  waggon !  the  waggon !  to  carry  me 
away,  away; — never,  never  to  return  and  see  my  mother?" 
she  exclaims,  as  well  nigh  in  convulsions  she  shrieks,  when 
Blowers  grasps  her  in  his  arms  (Grraspum  saying,  be  gentle, 
Blowers),  drags  her  to  the  door,  and  by  force  thrusts  her 
into  the  waggon,  stifling  her  cries  as  on  the  road  they  drive 
quickly  away.  As  the  last  faint  wail  dies  away,  arid  the 
vehicle  bearing  its  victim  disappears  in  the  distance,  we 
think  how  sweet  is  liberty,  how  prone  to  injustice  is  man, 
how  crushing  of  right  are  democracy's  base  practices. 

"  Does  seem  kind  of  hard ;  but  it's  a  righteous  good  sale. 
Shouldn't  wonder  if  she  played  the  same  game  on  him  she 
did  with  t'other  two  fools.  Gret  her  back  then,  and  sell  her 
over  again.  Well !  come  now ;  there's  no  great  loss 
without — some — small — gain  !"  says  Grraspum,  as,  standing 
his  prominent  figure  in  the  door  of  his  man  pen,  he  watches 
the  woman  pass  out  of  sight,  thrusts  his  hands  deep  into  his 
breeches  pockets,  and  commences  humming  an  air  for  his 
own  special  amusement. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

NICHOLAS'S  SIMPLE  STOUT. 

THE  reader  will  remember  that  we  left  Nicholas  seeking 
his  way  to  Mr.  Grabguy's  workshop,  situated  in  the  outskirts 
of  the  city.  And  we  must  here  inform  him  that  considerable 
change  in  the  social  position  of  the  younger  Grabguy  family 
has  taken  place  since  we  left  them,  which  is  some  years  ago. 
The  elder  Grabguy,  who,  it  will  be  remembered,  was  very 
distinguished  as  his  Worship  the  Mayor  of  the  City  (that 
also  was  some  years  ago),  has  departed  this  life,  leaving  the 
present  principal  of  the  Grabguy  family  a  large  portion  of 
his  estate,  which,  being  mostly  of  "nigger  property," 
requires  some  little  transforming  before  it  can  be  made  to 
suit  his  more  extended  business  arrangements.  This 
material  addition  to  -the  already  well-reputed  estate  of 
Mr.  Grabguy  warrants  his  admittance  into  very  respectable, 
and,  some  say,  rather  distinguished  society.  Indeed,  it  is 
more  than  whispered,  that  when  the  question  of  admitting 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Grabguy  to  the  membership  of  a  very  select 
circle,  the  saintly  cognomen  of  which  is  as  indefinable  as 
its  system  of  selecting  members,  or  the  angles  presented  by 
the  nasal  organs  of  a  few  ladies  when  anything  short  of  the 
very  first  families  are  proposed,  there  were  seven  very 
fashionable  ladies  for,  and  only  three  against.  The  greatest 
antagonist  the  Grabguys  have  to  getting  into  the  embrace 
of  this  very  select  circle  is  Mrs.  Chief  Justice  Pimpkins, 
a  matronly  body  of  some  fifty  summers,  who  declares  there  can 
be  no  judge  in  the  world  so  clever  as  her  own  dear 
Pimpkins,  and  that  society  was  becoming  so  vulgar  and 
coarse,  and  so  many  low  people — whoso  English  was  as 
hopefully  bad  as  could  be,  and  who  never  spoke  when  they 
didn't  impugn  her  risible  nerves — were  intruding  themselves 
upon  its  polished  sanctity,  that  she  felt  more  and  more 
every  day  the  necessity  of  withdrawing  entirely  from  it,  and 
enjoying  her  own  exclusively  distinguished  self.  In  the 
case  of  Grabguy's  admittance  to  the  St.  Cecilia,  my  Lady 


462  NICHOLAS'S  SIMPLE  STOBT. 

Pimpkins — she  is  commonly  called  Lady  Chief  Justice 
Pimpkins — had  two  most  formidable  black  balls ;  the  first 
because  Mrs.  Grabguy's  father  was  a  bread-baker,  and  the 
second  that  the  present  Grabguy  could  not  be  considered 
a  gentleman  while  he  continued  in  mechanical  business. 
Another  serious  objection  Mrs.  Pimpkins  would  merely 
suggest  as  a  preventive ; — such  people  were  ill  suited  to 
mix  with  titled  and  other  distinguished  society !  But, 
Grabguy,  to  make  up  for  the  vexatious  rejection,  has  got 
to  be  an  alderman,  which  is  a  step  upward  in  the  scale 
of  his  father's  attained  distinction.  There  is  nothing  more 
natural,  then,  than  that  Grabguy  should  seek  his  way  up 
in  the  world,  with  the  best  means  at  his  hands  ;  it  is  a 
worthy  trait  of  human  nature,  and  is  as  natural  to  the 
slave.  In  this  instance— when  master  and  slave  are  both 
incited  to  a  noble  purpose— Grabguy  is  a  wealthy  alderman, 
and  Nicholas —  the  whiter  of  the  two  —his  abject  slave. 
The  master,  a  man  of  meagre  mind,  and  exceedingly  ava 
ricious,  would  make  himself  distinguished  in  society ;  the 
slave,  a  mercurial  being  of  impassioned  temper,  whose  mind 
is  quickened  by  a  sense  of  the  injustice  that  robs  him  of  his 
rights,  seeks  only  freedom  and  what  may  follow  in  its  order. 
Let  us  again  introduce  the  reader  to  Nicholas,  as  his 
manly  figure,  marked  with  impressive  features,  stands  before 
us,  in  Grabguy's  workshop.  Tall,  and  finely  formed,  he  has 
grown  to  manhood,  retaining  all  the  quick  fiery  impulses  of  his 
race.  Those  black  eyes  wandering  irresistibly,  that  curl  of 
contempt  that  sits  upon  his  lip,  that  stare  of  revenge  that 
scowls  beneath  those  heavy  eyebrows,  and  that  hate  of  wrong 
that  ever  and  anon  pervades  the  whole,  tell  how  burns  in  his 
heart  the  elements  of  a  will  that  would  brave  death  for  its 
rights — that  would  bear  unmoved  the  oppressor's  lash — that 
would  embrace  death  rather  than  yield  to  perfidy.  He  tells 
us — "  I  came  here,  sold — so  they  said — by  God's  will. 
"Well.  I  thought  to  myself,  isn't  this  strange,  that  a  curious 
God— they  tell  me  he  loves  everybody — should  sell  me  ?  It 
all  seemed  like  a  misty  waste  to  me.  I  remembered  home — 
I  learned  to  read,  myself — I  remembered  mother,  I  loved  her, 
but  she  left  me,  and  I  have  never  seen  her  since.  I  loved 
her,  dear  mother  !  I  did  love  her ;  but  they  said  she  was 
gone  far  away,  and  I  musn't  mind  if  I  never  see'd  her  again. 
It  seemed  hard  and  strange,  but  I  had  to  put  up  with  it,  for 


NICHOLAS'S  SIMPLE  STOET.  463 

they  said  I  never  had  a  father,  and  my  mother  had  no  right 
to  me  (his  piercing  black  eyes  glare,  as  fervently  he 
says,  mother!').  I  thought,  at  last,  it  was  true,  for  everybody 
had  a  right  to  call  me  nigger, — a  blasted  white  nigger,  a 
nigger  as  wouldn't  be  worth  nothing.  And  then  they  used 
to  kick  me,  and  cuff  me,  and  lash  me ;  and  if  nigger  was 
nigger  I  was  worse  than  a  nigger,  because  every  black  nigger 
was  laughing  at  me,  and  telling  me  what  a  fool  of  a  white 
nigger  I  was  ; — that  white  niggers  .was  nobody,  could  be 
nobody,  and  was  never  intended  for  nobody,  as  nobody 
knew  where  white  niggera  come  from.  But  I  didn't  believe 
all  this ;  it  warn't  sensible.  Something  said — Nicholas ! 
you're  just  as  good  as  anybody :  learn  to  read,  write,  and 
cypher,  and  you'll  be  something  yet.  And  this  something 
— I  couldn't  tell  what  it  was,  nor  could  I  describe  it — 
seemed  irresistible  in  its  power  to  carry  me  to  be  that  some 
body  it  prompted  in  my  feelings.  I  was  white,  and  when  I 
looked  at  myself  I  knew  I  wasn't  a  nigger  ;  and  feeling  that 
everybody  could  be  somebody,  I  began  to  look  forward  to 
the  time  when  I  should  rise  above  the  burden  of  misfortune 
that  .seemed  bearing  me  down  into  the  earth.  And  then, 
Franconia,  like  a  sister,  used  to  come  to  me,  and  say  so 
many  kind  things  to  me  that  I  felt  relieved,  and  resolved 
to  go  forward.  Then  I  lost  sight  of  Franconia,  and  saw 
nobody  I  knew  but  Annette  ;  and  she  seemed  so  pretty,  and 
loved  me  so  affectionately.  How  long  it  seems  since  I  have 
seen  her  !  She  dressed  me  so  nicely,  and  parted  my  hair,  and 
kissed  me  so  kindly ;  and  said  good-by,  when  I  left  her,  so 
in  regret,  I  never  can  forget  it.  And  it  was  then  they 
said  I  was  sold.  Mr.  Graspum  said  he  owned  me,  and 
owning  me  was  equal  to  doing  what  he  pleased  with  me. 
Then  I  went  home  to  Mr.  Grabguy'a ;  and  they  said  Mr. 
Grabguy  owned  me  just  as  he  owned  his  great  big  dog 
they  called  a  democratic  bull-dog,  the  foreman  said  he  paid 
a  democratic  ten-dollar  gold  piece  for.  They  used  to  say 
the  only  difference  between  me  and  the  dog  was,  that  the 
dog  could  go  where  he  pleased  without  being  lashed,  and  I 
couldn't.  And  the  dog  always  got  enough  to  eat,  and 
seemed  a  great  favourite  with  everybody,  whereas  I  got  only 
more  kicks  than  cucumbers,  didn't  seem  liked  by  any 
body,  and  if  I  got  enough  to  eat  I  had  nobody  to  thank  but 
good  old  Margery,  the  cook,  who  was  kind  to  me  now  and 


464  NICHOLAS'S  SIMPLE  STORY. 

then,  and  used  to  say — "I  like  you,  Nicholas  !"  And  that 
used  to  make  me  feel  so  happy !  Old  Margery  was  coal- 
black;  but  I  didn't  care  for  that, — the  knowledge  of  somebody 
loving  you  is  enough  to  light  up  the  happy  ol  life,  and 
make  the  heart  feel  contented.  In  this  manner  my  thoughts 
went  here  and  there  and  everywhere  ;  and  the  truth  is,  I 
had  so  many  thoughts,  that  I  got  completely  bewildered  in 
thinking  how  I  was  to  better  myself,  and  be  like  other 
folks.  Mr.  Grrabguy  seemed  kind  to  me  at  first, — said  he 
would  make  a  great  mechanic  of  me,  and  give  me  a  chance 
to  buy  myself.  I  didn't  know  what  this  "buy  myself" 
meant,  at  first.  But  I  soon  found  out— he  tells  us  he  must 
speak  with  caution — that  I  must  pay  so  many  hundred 
dollars  afore  I  could  be  like  other  folks.  The  kindness  Mr. 
Grrabguy  at  first  exhibited  for  me  didn't  last  long ;  he  soon 
began  to  kick  me,  and  cuff  me,  and  swear  at  me.  And  it 
'pear'd  to  me  as  if  I  never  could  please  anybody,  and  so  my 
feelings  got  so  embittered  I  didn't  know  what  to  do.  I  was 
put  into  the  shop  among  the  men,  and  one  said  Nigger,  here! 
and  another  said,  Nigger,  get  there  ! — and  they  all  seemed 
not  to  be  inclined  to  help  me  along.  And  then  I  would  get  in 
a  passion :  but  that  never  made  things  better.  The  foreman 
now  and  then  said  a  kind  word  to  me ;  and  whenever  he 
did,  it  made  my  heart  feel  so  good  that  I  seemed  a  new  being 
with  brighter  hopes.  Well,  Mr.  Grrabguy  put  me  to 
turning  the  grindstone,  first ;  and  from  turning  the  grind 
stone — the  men  used  to  throw  water  in  rny  face  when  they 
ground  their  chisels,  and  their  plane  irons,  and  axes  and 
adzes — I  was  learned  to  saw,  and  to  plain  boards,  and  then 
to  mortice  and  frame,  and  make  mouldings,  and  window- 
sashes,  and  door-frames.  When  I  could  do  all  these,  master 
used  to  say  I  was  bound  to  make  a  great  workman,  and, 
laughingly,  would  say  I  was  the  most  valuable  property  he 
ever  owned.  About  this  time  I  began  to  find  out  how  it 
was  that  the  other  white  folks  owned  themselves  and  master 
owned  me ;  but  then,  if  I  said  anything  about  it,  master 
might  tie  me  up  and  lash  me  as  he  used  to  do ;  and  so  I  re 
mained  quiet,  but  kept  up  a  thinking.  By  and  by  I  got 
perfect  at  the  carpenter's  trade,  and  I  learned  engineering  ; 
and  when  I  had  got  engineering  perfect,  I  took  a  fancy  for 
making  stucco  work  and  images.  And  people  said  I  learned 
•wondrously  fast,  and  was  the  best  workman  far  or  near. 


NICHOLAS'S  SIMPLE  STOBY.  465 

Seeing  these  things,  people  used  to  be  coming  to  me,  and 
talking  to  me  about  my  value,  and  then  end  by  wanting  me 
to  make  them  specimens  of  stucco.  I  seemed  liked  by 
everybody  who  came  to  see  me,  and  good  people  had  a  kind 
word  for  me ;  but  Mr.  Grabguy  was  very  strict,  and 
wouldn't  allow  me  to  do  anything  without  his  permission. 
People  said  my  work  was  perfect,  and  master  said  I  was  a 
perfect  piece  of  property ;  and  it  used  to  pain  deep  into  my 
heart  when  master  spoke  so.  "Well !  I  got  to  be  a  man, 
and  when  the  foreman  got  drunk  master  used  to  put  me  in 
his  place.  And  after  a  while  I  got  to  be  foreman  altogether  : 
but  I  was  a  slave,  they  said,  and  men  wouldn't  follow  my 
directions  when  master  was  away ;  they  all  acknowledged 
that  I  was  a  good  workman,  but  said  a  nigger  never  should 
be  allowed  to  direct  and  order  white  people.  That  made  my 
very  blood  boil,  as  I  grew  older,  because  I  was  whiter  than 
many  of  them.  However,  submit  was  the  word ;  and  I  bore 
up  and  trusted  to  heaven  for  deliverance,  hoping  the  day 
would  come  soon  when  its  will  would  be  carried  out.  With 
my  knowledge  of  mechanics  increased  a  love  of  learning, 
which  almost  amounted  to  a  passion.  They  said  it  was 
against  the  law  for  a  nigger  to  read  ;  but  I  was  raised  so 
far  above  black  niggers  that  I  didn't  mind  what  the  law 
said  :  so  I  got  '  Pilgrim's  Progress,'  and  the  Bible,  and 
'  Young's  Night  Thoughts,'  and  from  them  I  learned  great 
truths :  they  gave  me  new  hopes,  refreshed  my  weary 
soul,  and  made  me  like  a  new-clothed  being  ready  to 
soar  above  the  injustice  of  this  life.  Oh,  how  I  read  them  at 
night,  and  re-read  them  in  the  morning,  and  every  time 
found  something  new  in  them,  something  that  suited  my 
case !  Through  the  sentiments  imbibed  from  them  I  saw 
freedom  hanging  out  its  light  of  love,  fascinating  me,  and 
inciting  me  to  make  a  death  struggle  to  gain  it. 

"  One  day,  as  I  was  thinking  of  my  hard  fate,  and  how  I 
did  all  the  work  and  master  got  all  the  money  for  it — and  how 
I  had  to  live  and  how  he  lived,  master  came  in — looking 
good-natured.  He  approached  me,  shook  hands  with  me, 
said  I  was  worth  my  weight  in  gold ;  and  then  asked  me 
how  I  would  like  to  be  free.  I  told  him  I  would  jump  for 
joy,  would  sing  praises,  and  be  glad  all  the  day  long. 

"  '  Aint  you  contented  where  you  are,  Nicholas  ?'  he  en 
quired.  I  told  him  I  didn't  dislike  him  ;  but  freedom  was 

H   H 


466  NICHOLAS'S  SIMPLE  STORY. 

sweetest.  '  Give  me  a  chance  of  my  freedom,  master,  and  yet 
you  may  know  me  as  a  man,'  says  I,  feeling  that  to  be  free 
was  to  be  among  the  living ;  to  be  a  slave  was  to  be  among 
the  moving  dead.  To  this  he  said,  he  always  had  liked 
me,  was  proud  of  me,  had  unbounded  confidence  in  my 
directions  over  the  men,  and  always  felt  safe  when  he 
went  from  home  leaving  things  in  my  charge.  '  In  this 
view  of  the  case,  Nicholas,'  he  says,  '  I  have  come  to  the 
conclusion, — and  it's  Mrs.  Grabguy's  conclusion,  too, — to 
let  you  work  evenings,  on  overtime,  for  yourself.  You 
can  earn  a  deal  of  money  that  way,  if  you  please ;  just  save 
it  up,  and  let  me  keep  it  for  you,  and  in  consideration  of 
your  faithfulness  I  will  set  you  free  whenever  you  get  a 
thousand  dollars  to  put  into  my  hands.  Now  that's 
generous — I  want  to  do  the  straight  thing,  and  so  Mrs. 
Grabguy  wants  to  do  the  straight  thing  ;  and  what  money 
you  save  you  can  put  in  Mrs.  Grabguy's  hands  for  safe 
keeping.  She's  a  noble-minded  woman,  and  '11  take  good 
care  of  it.'  This  was  to  me  like  entering  upon  a  new 
life  of  hope  and  joy.  How  my  heart  yearned  for  the 
coming  day,  when  I  should  be  free  like  other  folks  !  I 
worked  and  struggled  by  night  and  day ;  and  good  Mr. 
Simons  befriended  me,  and  procured  me  many  little  orders, 
which  I  executed,  and  for  which  I  got  good  pay.  All  my 
own  earnings  I  put  into  Mrs.  Grabguy's  hands ;  and  she 
told  me  she  would  keep  it  for  me,  safe,  till  I  got  enough  to 
buy  my  freedom.  My  confidence  in  these  assurances  was 
undivided.  I  looked  upon  Mrs.  Grabguy  as  a  friend  and 
mother ;  and  good  Mr.  Simons,  who  was  poor  but  honest,  did 
many  kind  things  to  help  me  out.  When  I  got  one  hundred 
dollars  in  missus'  hands  I  jumped  for  joy  ;  with  it  I  seemed 
to  have  got  over  the  first  difficult  step  in  the  great  moun 
tain.  Then  missus  said  I  must  take  Jerushe  for  my  wife. 
I  didn't  like  Jerushe  at  first — she  was  almost  black ;  but 
missus  said  we  were  both  slaves ;  hence,  that  could  be  no 
objection.  As  missus's  order  was  equally  as  positive  as 
master's,  there  was  no  alternative  but  to  obey  it,  and 
Jerushe  became  my  wife.  We  were  lawfully  married,  and 
missus  made  a  nice  little  party  for  us,  and  Jerushe  loved 
me,  and  was  kind  to  me,  and  her  solicitude  for  my  welfare 
soon  made  me  repay  her  love.  I  pitied  her  condition,  and 
she  seemed  to  pity  mine ;  and  I  soon  forgot  that  she  was 


NICHOLAS'S  SIMPLE  STOBT. 

black,  and  we  lived  happily  together,  and  had  two  children, 
which  missus  said  were  hers.  It  was  hard  to  reconcile  this, 
and  yet  it  was  so,  by  law  as  well  as  social  right.  But  then 
missus  was  kind  to  Jerushe,  aiid  let  her  buy  her  time  at  four 
dollars  a  week,  which,  having  learned  to  make  dresses,  she 
could  pay  and  have  a  small  surplus  to  lay  by  every 
week.  Jerushe  knew  I  was  struggling  for  freedom, 
and  she  would  help  me  to  buy  that  freedom,  knowing 
that,  if  I  was  free,  I  would  return  her  kindness,  and  struggle 
to  make  her  free,  and  our  children  free. 

"  Tears  rolled  on, — we  had  placed  nearly  five  hundred 
dollars  in  missus's  hands :  but  how  vain  were  the  hopes 
that  had  borne  us  through  so  many  privations  for  the 
accumulation  of  this  portion  of  our  price  of  freedom ! 
Master  has  sold  my  children, — yes,  sold  them  !  He  will 
not  tell  me  where  nor  to  whom.  Missus  will  neither  see 
r.or  hear  me ;  and  master  threatens  to  sell  me  to  New 
Orleans  if  I  resent  his  act.  To  what  tribunal  can  I  appeal 
for  justice  ?  Shut  from  the  laws  of  my  native  land,  what 
justice  is  there  for  the  slave  where  injustice  makes  its  law 
oppression  ?  Master  may  sell  me,  but  he  cannot  vanquish 
the  spirit  God  has  given  me ;  never,  never,  will  I  yield  to 
his  nefarious  designs.  I  have  but  one  life  to  yield  up  a 
sacrifice  for  right — I  care  not  to  live  for  wrong  !"  Thus 
he  speaks,  as  his  frenzied  soul  burns  with  indignation.  Hi? 
soul's  love  was  freedom  ;  he  asked  but  justice  to  achieve  it. 
Sick  at  heart  he  has  thrown  up  that  zeal  for  his  master's 
welfare  which  bore  him  onward,  summoned  his  determina 
tion  to  resist  to  the  last — to  die  rather  than  again  confront 
the  dreary  waste  of  a  slave's  life.  Grabguy  has  forfeited 
the  amount  deposited  by  Nicholas  as  part  of  the  price  of 
his  freedom, — betrayed  his  confidence. 

He  tells  us  his  simple  story,  as  the  workmen,  with 
fear  on  their  countenances,  move  heedlessly  about  the 
room.  As  he  concludes,  Grabguy,  with  sullen  countenance, 
enters  the  great  door  at  the  end  of  the  building;  he  is 
followed  by  three  men  in  official  garbs,  two  of  whom  bear 
manacles  in  their  hands.  Nicholas's  dark  eye  flashes 
upon  them,  and  with  an  instinctive  knowledge  of  their 
errand,  he  seizes  a  broad  axe,  salutes  them,  and,  defiantly, 
cautions  their  advance.  Grabguy  heeds  not ;  and  as  the 
aggrieved  man  slowly  retreats  backward  to  protect  himself 


468  NICHOLAS'S  SIMPLE  STORY. 

with  the  wall,  still  keeping  his  eye  set  on  Grabguy,  two  negroes 
make  a  sudden  spring  upon  him  from  behind,  fetter  his  arms  as 
the  officers  rush  forward,  bind  him  hand  and  foot,  and  drag  him 
to  the  door,  regardless  of  his  cries  for  mercy  :  they  bind  him  to 
a  dray,  and  drive  through  the  streets  to  the  slave  pen  of  Gras- 
pum.  We  hear  his  pleading  voice,  as  his  ruffian  captors,  their 
prey  secure,  disappear  among  the  busy  crowd. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

HE  WOULD  DELIVER  HER  FROM  BONDAGE. 

twelve  o'clock  of  a  hazy  night,  in  the  month  of 
November,  and  while  Annette,  in  the  hands  of  Mr.  Pringle 
Blowers,  with  death-like  tenacity  refuses  to  yield  to  his  vile 
purposes,  a  little  taunt-rigged  schooner  may  be  seen  stealing 
her  way  through  the  grey  mist  into  Charleston  inner  barhour. 
Like  a  mysterious  messenger,  she  advances  noiselessly,  gibes 
her  half-dimmed  sails,  rounds  to  a  short  distance  from 
an  old  fort  that  stands  on  a  ridge  of  flats  extending  into  the 
sea,  drops  her  anchor,  and  furls  her  sails.  We  hear  the 
rumble  of  the  chain,  and  "aye,  aye  !"  sound  on  the  still  air, 
like  the  murmur  of  voices  in  the  clouds.  A  pause  is  fol 
lowed  by  the  sharp  sound  of  voices  echoing  through  the 
hollow  mist ;  then  she  rides  like  a  thing  of  life  reposing  on 
the  polished  water,  her  masts  half  obscured  in  mist,  looming 
high  above,  like  a  spectre  in  gauze  shroud.  The  sound  dies 
away,  and  dimly  we  see  the  figure  of  a  man  pacing  the  deck 
from  fore-shroud  to  taifrail.  Now  and  then  he  stops  at  the 
wheel,  casts  sundry  glances  about  the  horizon,  as  if  to  catch 
a  recognition  of  some  point  of  land  near  by,  and  walks  again. 
Now  he  places  his  body  against  the  spokes,  leans  forward, 
and  compares  the  "lay"  of  the  land  with  points  of  compass. 
He  will  reach  his  hand  into  the  binnacle,  to  note  the  com 
pass  with  his  finger,  and  wait  its  traversing  motion.  Appa 
rently  satisfied,  he  moves  his  slow  way  along  again ;  now 
folding  his  arms,  as  if  in  deep  study,  then  locking  his  hands 
behind  him,  and  drooping  his  head.  He  paces  and  paces 
for  an  hour,  retires  below,  and  all  is  still. 

Early  on  the  following  morning,  a  man  of  middle  stature, 
genteeily  dressed, may  be  seen  leaving  thecraft  in  aboat,  which, 
rowed  by  two  seamen,  soon  reaches  a  wharf,  upon  the  landing 
slip  of  which  he  disembarks.  He  looks  pale,  and  his  coun 
tenance  wears  a  placidness  indicating  a  mind  absorbed  in 
reflection.  With  a  carpet-bag  in  his  right  hand  does  he  ascend 
the  steps  to  the  crown  of  the  wharf,  as  the  boat  returns  to 


470  HE  WOULD  DEMTEB  HEB  FROM  BONDAGE. 

the  mysterious-looking  craft.  Standing  on  the  capsill  for  a 
few  minutes,  his  blue  eyes  wander  over  the  scene,  as  if  to 
detect  some  familiar  object.  The  warehouses  along  the 
wharfs  wear  a  dingy,  neglected  air ;  immense  piles  of 
cotton  bales  stand  under  slender  sheds  erected  here  and 
there  along  the  line  of  buildings  which  form  a  curvature 
declining  to  the  east  and  west.  Again,  open  spaces  are 
strewn  with  bales  of  cotton  waiting  its  turn  through  the 
press  (a  large  building  near  by,  from  which  steam  is  issuing 
in  successive  puffings  and  roarings) ;  from  which  com 
pressed  bales  emerge  out  of  the  lower  story,  followed  by  a 
dozen  half-naked  negroes,  who,  half-bent,  trundle  it  onward 
into  piles,  or  on  board  ships.  Far  above  these  is  spread  out 
a  semicircle  of  dwellings,  having  a  gloomy  and  irregular 
appearance,  devoid  of  that  freshness  and  brightness  which 
so  distinguish  every  JSTew  England  city.  The  bustle  of  the 
day  is  just  commencing,  and  the  halt-mantled  ships,  lying 
unmoved  at  the  wharfs,  give  out  signs  of  activity.  The  new 
comer  is  about  to  move  on  up  the  wharf,  when  suddenly  he 
is  accosted  by  a  negro,  who,  in  ragged  garb,  touches  his 
hat  politely,  and  says,  with  a  smile,  "  Yer  sarvant,  mas'r !" 

"Tour  name,  my  boy?"  returns  the  man,  in  a  kind  tone 
of  voice.  The  negro,  thrusting  his  hands  deep  into  the 
pockets  of  his  old  sack  coat,  seems  contemplating  an  answer. 
He  has  had  several  names,  both  surname  and  Christian;  names 
are  but  of  little  value  to  a  slave.  "  Pompe  they  once  called 
me,  but  da'  calls  me  Bill  now,"  he  answers,  eyeing  the 
stranger,  suspiciously.  "  Pompe,  Pompe !  I've  heard  that 
name :  how  familiar  it  sounds !"  the  stranger  says  to  him 
self. 

"  One  mas'r  call  me  Turtle  Tom,"  rejoins  the  negro, 
scratching  his  head  the  while. 

"  Turtle  Tom  !"  reiterates  the  stranger.  "  Had  yon  no 
other  name  coupled  with  Pompe,  when  that  was  the  name 
by  which  you  were  recognised  ?" 

The  negro  will  not  wait  his  finishing  the  sentence.  He 
says  he  had  good  old  mas'r's  name ;  but  good  old  mas'r — 
"so  dey  tells" — dead  and  gone  long  time  ago.  "His  name 
was  Marston ;  and  dat  war  dis  child's  name  den,  God  bless 
'um  !"  he  answers  the  stranger. 

"  Marston,  who  lived  on  the  banks  of  the  Ashley  ?"  again 
he  enquires,  as  his  face  crimsons  with  excitement. 


HE  WOULD  DELIVER  HEE  FBOM  BONDAGE.      471 

"  Dat  war  my  mas'r ;  and  dem  war  good  old  times  when 
I  lived  dar,"  returns  the  negro,  significantly  nodding  his 
head. 

"  Then  you  are  the  first  man  I  have  met,  the  first  I  want 
to  see,"  exclaimed  the  stranger,  grasping  the  negro  by  the 
hand,  and,  much  to  his  surprise,  shaking  it  heartily. 

"  'Taint  Lorenzo,"  returns  the  negro,  contemplating  the 
stranger  with  astonishment. 

The  stranger  is  not  Lorenzo,  but  he  has  heard  much  of 
him.  What  happy  recollections  its  familiar  sound  recalls  : 
how  it  strengthens  his  hopes  of  success  in  his  mission.  The 
negro  tells  him  he  is  a  labourer  on  the  wharf,  and  cannot 
leave  to  conduct  him  to  an  hotel ;  he  will,  however,  direct 
the  stranger  to  a  comfortable  abode  in  Church  Street.  It 
is  quiet  and  unostentatious,  but  will  serve  his  purpose. 
Placing  a  piece  of  money  in  the  negro's  hand,  he  assures 
him  that  he  is  his  friend — has  much  need  of  his  services — 
will  pay  him  well  for  their  employment.  He  has  equally 
aroused  the  negro's  curiosity  ;  and,  were  it  nothing  more 
than  satisfying  that,  he  would  be  faithful  to  his  promise  to 
call  the  same  night  at  seven  o'clock.  Precisely  at  that  hour 
the  negro  will  fulfil  his  engagement.  The  stranger  wends 
his  way  to  Church  Street,  and  up  a  narrow  alley,  on  the  left 
hand  side,  finds  comfortable  apartments,  as  directed.  Here 
he  makes  his  toilet,  and  sallies  out  to  reconnoitre  the  city. 
Meanwhile  the  little  craft  is  entered  at  the  custom-house  as 
a  fruiter,  bound  from  New  Providence  to  New  York,  and 
put  in  for  a  harbour.  There  is  something  suspicious  about 
a  fruiter  putting  in  for  a  harbour  at  this  season,  and  many 
curious  glances  are  cast  upon  the  little  captain  as  he  bowa 
to  the  truth  of  his  entry  before  the  deputy  collector. 

The  stranger  has  spent  the  day  in  viewing  the  city,  and 
at  nightfall,  the  negro,  true  to  his  engagement,  presents  his 
sable  figure  at  his  lodgings.  A  servant  having  shown  him 
up  stairs,  he  is  ushered  into  his  presence,  where,  seeming 
bewildered,  he  looks  about  inquiringly,  as  if  doubting  the 
object  for  which  he  has  been  summoned.  Abjectly  he  holds 
his  tattered  cap  in  his  hand,  and  tremblingly  inquires  what 
master  wants  with  him. 

"  Have  confidence,  my  good  fellow,"  the  stranger  speaks, 
•with  a  smile;  "my  mission  is  love  and  peace,"  He 
places  a  chair  beside  a  small  table  in  the  centre  of  the  room ; 


472  HE  WOULD  DELIVER  HER  FROM  BONDAGE. 

bids  the  negro  sit  down,  which  he  does  with  some  hesitation. 
The  room  is  small;  it  contains  a  table,  bureau,  washstaud, 
bed,  and  four  chairs,  which,  together  with  a  few  small 
prints  hanging  from  the  dingy  walls,  and  a  square  piece  of 
carpet  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  constitute  its  furniture. 
"  You  know  Marston's  plantation — know  it  as  it  was  when 
Marston  resided  thereon,  do  you?"  enquires  the  stranger, 
seating  himself  beside  the  negro,  who  evidently  is  not  used 
to  this  sort  of  familiarity. 

"  Know  'um  well,  dat  I  does,"  answers  the  negro,  quickly, 
as  if  the  question  had  recalled  scenes  of  the  past. 

"And  you  know  the  people,  too,  I  suppose  P" 

"  Da'h  people  !"  ejaculates  the  negro,  with  a  rhapsody  of 
enthusiasm;  "reckon  I  does." 

"  Will  you  recount  them." 

The  negro,  commencing  with  old  master,  'recounts  the 
names  of  Miss  TYanconia,  Clotilda,  Ellen,  Aunt  Rachel,  old 
Daddy  Bob,  and  Harry. 

"  It  is  enough,"  says  the  stranger,  "  they  are  ail  familiar 
names." 

"Did  you  know  my  good  old  master?"  interrupts  the 
negro,  suddenly,  as  if  detecting  some  familiar  feature  in  the 
stranger's  countenance. 

"  JSTo,"  he  replies,  measuredly ;  "  but  his  name  has 
sounded  in  my  ears  a  thousand  times.  Tell  me  where  are 
the  children,  Annette  and  Nicholas  ?  and  where  may  I  find 
Franconia  ?" 

The  negro  shakes  his  head,  and  remains  silent  for  a  few 
minutes.  At  length  he  raises  his  hand,  and  in  a  halt-whisper 
says,  "  Gone,  gone,  gone ;  sold  and  scattered,  good  mas'r. 
Habn't  see  dem  child  dis  many  a  day :  reckon  da'h  done 
gone  down  south."  He  hesitates  suddenly,  as  if  calling 
something  to  memory ;  and  then,  placing  his  left  hand  on 
the  stranger's  right  arm,  as  he  rubs  hia  left  across  his  fore 
head,  stammers  out — "  Mas'r,  mas'r,  I  reckon  dis  child  do 
know  somefin  'bout  Miss  Frankone.  Anyhow,  mas'r  (ye 
knows  I'se  nigger  do'h,  and  don't  keep  up  'quaintance  a't'er 
mas'r  sell  um),  can  put  ye  straight  'bout  Missus  Rosebrook'a 
house,  and  reckon  how  dat  lady  can  put  ye  straight  on  Miss 
IVankone's  where'bout."  It  is  what  the  stranger  wants. 
He  baa  heard  of  Mrs.  Rosebrook  before ;  she  will  give 
him  the  information  he  seeks :  so,  turning  again  to  the 


HE  WOULD  DELIVER  HER  FROM  BONDAGE.  473 

negro,  he  tells  him  that,  for  a  few  days  at  least,  he  shall 
require  his  presence  at  the  same  hour  in  the  evening :  to 
night  he  must  conduct  him  to  Mrs.  liosebrook's  sequestered 
villa. 

The  Avatch-tower  bell  of  the  guard-house  sounds  forth 
nine  o'clock.  The  soldier-like  sentinel,  pacing  with  loaded 
musket,  and  armed  with  sharpest  steel,  cries  out  in  hoarse 
accents,  "  All's  well !"  The  bell  is  summoning  all  negroes  to 
their  habitations  :  our  guide,  Bill,  informs  the  stranger  that 
he  must  have  a  "  pass"  from  a  white  man  before  he  can 
venture  into  the  street.  "Mas'r  may  write  'um,"  he  says, 
knowing  that  it  matters  but  little  from  whom  it  comes,  so 
long  as  the  writer  be  a  white  man.  The  pass  is  written ; 
the  negro  partakes  of  refreshment  that  has  been  prepared 
for  him  at  the  stranger's  request,  and  they  are  wending 
their  way  through  the  city.  They  pass  between  rows  of  massive 
buildings,  many  of  which  have  an  antique  appearance,  and  bear 
strong  signs  of  neglect ;  but  their  unique  style  of  architecture 
denotes  the  taste  of  the  time  in  which  they  were  erected. 
Some  are  distinguished  by  heavy  stone  colonnades,  others 
by  verandas  of  fret-work,  with  large  gothic  windows  stand 
ing  in  bold  outline.  Gloomy-looking  guard-houses,  from 
which  numerous  armed  men  are  issuing  forth  for  the 
night's  duty, — patrolling  figures  with  white  cross  belts,  and 
armed  with  batons,  standing  at  corners  of  streets,  or  moving 
along  with  heavy  tread  on  the  uneven  side-walk, — give  the 
city  an  air  of  military  importance.  The  love  of  freedom  is 
dangerous  in  this  democratic  world ;  liberty  is  simply  a  pri 
vilege.  Again  the  stranger  and  his  guide  (the  negro) 
emerge  into  narrow  lanes,  and  pass  along  between  rows  of 
small  dwellings  inhabited  by  negroes ;  but  at  every  turn 
they  encounter  mounted  soldiery,  riding  two  abreast,  heavily 
armed.  "  Democracy,  boast  not  of  thy  privileges  !  tell  no 
man  thou  governest  with  equal  justice!"  said  the  stranger  to 
himself,  as  the  gas-light  shed  its  flickers  upon  this  military 
array  formed  to  suppress  liberty. 

They  have  reached  the  outskirts  of  the  city,  and  are  ap 
proaching  a  pretty  villa,  which  the  negro,  who  has  been 
explaining  the  nature  and  duties  of  this  formidable  display 
of  citizen  soldiery,  points  to,  as  the  peaceful  home  of  the 
Sosebrook  family.  Brighter  and  brighter,  as  they  approach, 
glares  the  bright  light  of  a  window  in  the  north  front.  "  I 


474  HE  WOULD  DELIYEB  1IEE  FEOM  BOKDAOE. 

wish  Mas'r  Rosebrook  owned  me,"  says  the  negro,  stopping 
at  the  garden  ga'te,  and  viewing  the  pretty  enclosure  ere  he 
opens  it.     "  If  ebery  mas'r  and  missus  war  as  kind  as  da'h 
is,  dar  wouldn't  be  no  need  o'  dem  guard-houses  and  dem 
guardmen  wid  dar  savage  steel,"   he  continues,  opening  the 
gate  gently,  and  motioning  the  stranger  to  walk  in.    Noise 
lessly  he  advances  up  the  brick  walk  to  the  hall  entrance, 
and  rings  the  bell.     A  well-dressed  negro  man  soon  makes 
his  appearance,  receives  him  politely,  as  the  guide  retires, 
and  ushers  him  into  a  sumptuously  furnished  parlour.    The 
Rosebrook  negroes  quickly  recognise  a  gentleman,  and  de 
tecting  it  in  the  bearing  of  the  stranger  they  treat  him  as 
such.     Mrs.   Rosebrook,   followed  by  her  husband,   soon 
makes  her  appearance,  saluting  the  stranger  with  her  usual 
suavity.     "  I  have  come,  madam,"  he  says,  "  on  a  strange 
mission.     "With  you  I  make  no  secret  of  it ;  should  I  be 
successful  it  will  remove  the  grief  and  anxiety  of  one  who 
has  for  years  mourned  the  fate  of  her  on  whom  all  her  affec 
tions  seem  to  have  centred.     If  you  will  but  read  this  it 
will  save  the  further  recital  of  my  mission."     Thus  saying, 
he  drew  a  letter  from  his  pocket,  presented  it,  and  watched 
her  countenance  as  line  by  line  she  read  it,  and,  with  tears 
glistening  in  her  eyes,  passed  it  to  her  husband. 

"I  am,  good  sir,  heartily  glad  your  mission  is  thus 
laudable.  Be  at  home,  and  while  you  are  in  the  city  let  our 
home  be  yours.  Franconia  is  here  with  us  to-night ;  the 
child  you  search  after  is  also  with  us,  and  it  was  but  to-day 
we  learned  the  cruelties  to  which  she  has  been  subjected 
during  the  last  few  years.  Indeed,  her  fate  had  been  kept 
concealed  from  us  until  a  few  weeks  ago,  and  to-day,  having 
escaped  the  brutal  designs  of  a  ruffian,  she  fled  to  us  for 

protection,  and  is  now  concealed  under  our  roof " 

" Yes,  poor  wretch — it  is  too  true!"  rejoins  Rosebrook. 
"  But  something  must  be  done  as  quickly  as  possible,  for  if 
Pringle  Blowers  regains  her  she  will  be  subjected  to  tortures 
her  frame  is  too  delicate  to  bear  up  under.  There  must  be 
no  time  lost,  not  a  day  !"  he  says,  as  Mrs.  Eosebrook  quickly 
leaves  the  room  to  convey  the  news  to  Pranconia,  who,  with, 
Annette,  is  in  an  adjoining  apartment. 

Like  a  hunted  deer,  Annette's  fears  were  excited  on  hear 
ing  the  stranger  enter ;  Francouia  is  endeavouring  to  quiet 


HE  WOULD  DELIVEB  HEB,  FEOM  BONDAGE.  475 

them.  The  poor  slave  fears  the  ruffian's  pursuit,  trembles 
at  each  foot-fall  upon  the  door-sill,  and  piteously  turns 
to  her  old  friend  for  protection.  Blowers,  maddened 
with  disappointment,  would  rather  sacrifice  her  to  infamy 
than  sell  her  for  money  to  a  good  master.  The  price  of 
a  pretty  slave  is  no  object  with  this  boasting  democrat, — the 
gratification  of  his  carnal  desires  soars  supreme.  Rosebrook 
knows  this,  as  the  abject  woman  does  to  her  sorrow. 

As  Rosebrook  and  the  stranger  sit  conversing  upon  the 
object  of  his  mission,  and  the  best  way  to  effect  it,  this  good 
woman  returns  leading  by  the  arm  a  delicately-formed  girl, 
whose  blonde  countenance  is  shadowed  with  an  air  of  melan 
choly  which  rather  adds  to  her  charms  than  detracts  from  her 
beauty.  The  stranger's  eye  rests  upon  her, — quickly  he  recog 
nises  Clotilda's  features,  Clotilda's  form,  and  gentleness  ;  but 
she  is  fairer  than  Clotilda,  has  blue  eyes,  and  almost  golden 
hair.     She  hesitates  as  her  eyes  meet  the  stranger's.     "  Do 
not  fear,  my  child,"  speaks  Eranconia,  whose  slender  figure 
follows  her  into  the  room.     Assured  that  the  stranger  is 
her  friend,  she  is  introduced  to  him,  and  modestly  takes  her 
seat  on  a  chair  by  the  window.     The  stranger's  name  is 
Maxwell,  and  on  hearing  it  announced  Franconia  anticipated 
the  pleasure  of  meeting  with  her  old  friend,  through  whose 
agency  she  effected  Clotilda's  escape.     Advancing  towards 
him  with  extended  hand,  she  looks  enquiringly  in  his  face, 
saying,  "  Am  I  mistaken  r"    She  shakes  her  head,  doubtingly. 
"  No  !  it  is  not  rny  friend  Maxwell,"  she  continues. 

No !"  rejoins  the  stranger ;  "  he  is  my  cousin :  by 
his  directions  I  have  come  here.  I  have  brought  a  letter 
from  his  wife  Clotilda,  whose  dear  deliverer  you  were; 
and  whose  thoughts  now  daily  recur  to  you,  to  your  love 
and  kindness  to  her,  with  undying  brightness."  "Ah!" 
interrupts  Franconia,  welcoming  him  with  a  fervent  heart, 
"  I  knew  Clotilda  would  never  forget  Annette ;  I  knew  she 
would  remember  me ;  I  knew  her  ardent  soul  would  give 
forth  its  measure  of  gratitude.  Happy  am  I  that  you 
have  come — though  years  have  rolled  by  since  I  gave  up  all 
hopes  of  the  joyous  consummation — to  relieve  this  sorrowing 
child,"  she  says,  running  to  Annette,  and  with  tears  of  joy 
in  her  eyes,  exclaiming,  "  My  child  !  my  child !  you  '11  yet 
be  saved.  The  ruffian  who  tortured  you  to-day  will  torture 

ol 


476  HE  "WOULD  DELIVEB  HER  FEOM  BONDAGE. 

you  no  more — no  more  !"     And  she  kisses  the  sorrowing 
girl's  cheek,  as  tears  of  sympathy  gush  into  her  eyes. 

Bosebrook  handed  Franconia  the  letter,  which  she  read 
as  her  face  brightened  with  joy.  "  Good  Clotilda !  how 
happy  she  must  be !  How  generous,  how  kind,  how  true 
dear  Maxwell  was  to  her  ;  and  they  are  living  together  so 
comfortably,  and  have  such  a  nice  family  growing  up ;  but 
she  wants  her  slave  child !  A  slave  mother  never  forgets 
her  slave  offspring  !"  she  exclaims,  with  enthusiastic  delight, 
as  she  reads  and  re-reads  the  letter.  Back  she  paces  to 
Annette,  lays  her  right  arm  gently  over  her  shoulder,  and 
pats  her  cheek  with  her  left  hand  :  "  Annette  will  see  her 
mother,  yet.  There  is  an  all-protecting  hand  guiding  us 
through  every  ill  of  life.  Be  of  good  cheer,  my  child  ;  never 
despond  while  there  is  a  hope  left ;  bury  the  horrors  of  the 
past  in  the  brighter  prospect  of  the  future."  And  leading 
her  to  the  table  she  seats  her  by  her  side  and  reads  the 
letter  aloud,  as  with  joy  the  forlorn  girl's  feelings  bound 
forth.  We  need  scarcely  tell  the  reader  that  Clotilda's 
letter  was  read  in  listening  silence,  and  ran  thus  : — 

"  Nassau,  New  Providence, 
"  October  24,  18—. 

"  My  Dear  Franconia, 

"  My  thoughts  have  never  ceased  to  recur  to  you, 
nor  to  my  dear  Annette.  You  were  a  mother  and  a  deli 
verer  to  me  ;  I  know— though  I  have  not  received  a  word  in 
reply  to  any  of  my  letters — you  have  been  a  mother  to  my 
child.  As  you  know,  I  dare  not  write  as  much  as  I  would, 
lest  this  letter  fall  into  the  hands  of  those  whose  interest  it 
is  to  perpetuate  our  enslavement.  I  hope  you  are  happy 
with  a  good  husband,  as  I  am.  Tears  have  rolled  by  since 
we  parted,  and  many  have  been  the  scenes  and  changes 
through  which  I  have  passed,  but  they  wer,e  all  pleasant 
changes,  each  for  brighter  and  happier  prospects.  I  was 
married  to  him  who,  with  you,  effected  my  escape,  a  few 
•weeks  after  landing  at  Harbour  Island.  Since  then  we  have 
resided  in  Nassau,  where  my  husband,  who  loves  me  dearly, 
pursues  an  extensive  and  lucrative  business,  and  we  both 
move  in  the  best  society  of  the  place.  We  have  a  pretty 
family  of  three  children,  the  oldest  nine  years  old,  and  the 
youngest  five.  How  my  heart  would  leap  with  joy  if  I 


HE  WOULD  DELIVER  HER  FROM  BONDAGE.  477 

thought  you  would  accept  an  invitation  to  come  and  see  me, 
to  spend  a  few  weeks  with  me,  and  see  yourself  how  com 
fortable  and  happy  a  slave  may  be !  Perhaps  I  should  not 
say  happy,  for  I  never  can  be  truly  happy  without  my 
Annette.  Something  haunts  my  mind  whenever  I  recur  to 
her, — which  is  every  day.  And  then  I  have  written  so  many 
letters  to  which  no  answers  have  been  returned  ;  but,  a 
whispering  angel,  as  if  to  console  me,  says,  Franconia  will 
be  her  mother,  and  you  will  yet  see  her. 

"  The  gentleman  who  bears  this  letter  is  my  husband's 
cousin.  He  has  all  my  husband's  generosity  of  character, 
and  will  seek  you  for  the  purpose  of  finding  Annette,  and 
bearing  her  safely  to  me.  He  has  proffered  his  services, 
and  sworn  to  carry  out  his  object;  and  being  on  his 
way  to  New  Tork  for  the  purpose  of  entering  into  business 
with  his  uncle  now  in  that  city,  will  touch  at  Charleston, 
for  the  object  herein  stated.  Further  his  object,  my  dear 
Franconia,  and  that  heaven  will  reward  the  hand  that  in 
mercy  helps  the  enslaved, 

"  Is  the  prayer  of  your  grateful 
"  CLOTILDA  MAXWELL." 

"I  knew  mother  would  never  forget  me;  I  knew  she 
would  come  back  to  me,  would  be  kind  to  me,  as  she  used 
to  be,  and  save  me  from  such  cruelty  as  I  have  suffered. 
Several  times  have  I  resolved  on  putting  an  end  to  my 
unhappy  existence,  but  as  often  did  something  say  to  me, 
'  live  hoping — there  is  a  better  day  coming.'  G-od  guides, 
governs,  and  raises  up  the  weary  soul,"  says  Annette,  in 
touching  accents,  as  Franconia  finished  reading  the  letter. 

While  this  conversation  is  progressing,  and  the  plan  of 
getting  Annette  out  of  the  city  being  devised,  a  nice 
supper,  at  Mrs.  Kosebrook's  request,  is  being  prepared  in 
the  adjoining -room.  To  this  the  stranger  is  invited,  and  all 
sit  down  in  a  happy  circle.  Francouia  seems  invested  with 
new  life ;  Annette  forgets  for  the  time  her  troubles  ;  Mrs. 
Rosebrook,  who  does  the  honours  of  the  table,  wishes  every 
ill-used  slave  could  find  means  of  escaping  into  freedom ; 
and  Deacon  Rosebrook  says  he  will  join  heart  and  hand  in 
getting  the  forlorn  girl  free  from  her  base  purchaser. 


CHAPTER  XL1II. 

OTHER  PHASES  OF  THE  SUBJECT. 

must  leave  to  the  reader's  imagination  mnch  that 
transpired  at  the  Rosebrook  Villa  during  the  night  above 
mentioned,  and  ask  him  to  accompany  us  on  the  following 
morning,  when  curious  placards  may  be  seen  posted  here 
and  there  at  corners  of  streets  and  other  conspicuous  places 
about  the  city.  Mr.  Pringle  Blowers  has  lost  a  beautiful 
female  slave,  whose  fair  hair,  beautiful  complexion,  deep 
blue  eyes,  delicate  features,  and  charming  promise,  is  in 
large  type  and  blackest  printer's  ink  set  forth  most  glow 
ingly.  Had  Mr.  Pringle  Blowers  been  a  poet  instead  of  a 
chivalric  rice-planter,  he  might  have  emblazoned  his  loss  in 
sentimental  rhyme.  But  Pringle  Blowers  says  poets  always 
make  fools  of  themselves;  and,  although  the  south  is  a  sweet 
and  sunny  land,  he  is  happy  indeed  that  it  is  troubled 
with  none  of  the  miscreants.  He  owned  niggers  innume 
rable  ;  but  they  were  only  common  stock,  all  of  whom  he 
could  have  lost  without  feeling  any  more  than  ordinary  disap 
pointment  at  the  loss  of  their  worth  in  money.  For  this  one, 
however,  he  had  a  kind  of  undefined  love,  which  moved  his 
heart  most  indescribably.  Disappointed  in  the  gratification 
of  his  desires,  he  is  mortified  and  maddened  to  desperation. 
Why  should  a  slave  he  had  invested  so  much  money  in, 
and  felt  so  like  making  a  lady  of,  and  never  would  have 
thought  of  setting  at  field  labour,  run  away  ?  He  only 
wanted  her  for  the  most  aristocratic  purpose  the  south  can 
provide  for  a  beautiful  slave.  Hence  Mr.  Pringle  Blowers, 
through  the  medium  of  his  knowledge  of  letters,  puts 
forward  his  placard  —  a  copy  of  which  he  inserts  in  all  the 
most  respectable  morning  journals  —in  which  the  fair 
outlines  of  his  lost  woman  are  simply  set  forth.  He  will 
give  three  hundred  dollars  for  her  apprehension,  fifty  dollars 
more  for  proof  to  convict  any  person  of  harbouring  her, 
and  an  additional  sum  for  lodging  her  in  any  gaol  in  the 
country,  This  large  reward  Mr.  Pringle  Blowers  will  pay 


OTHER  PHASES  OF  THE  SUBJECT.  479 

in  bard  cash ;  and  he  has  no  doubt  the  offering  will  be  quits 
enough  to  excite  the  hunting  propensities  of  fashionable 
young  gentlemen,  as  well  as  inveterate  negro  hunters. 
Beside  this,  negro  hunting  being  rather  a  democratic  sport 
than  otherwise,  Mr.  Pringle  Blowers  reconciles  his 
feelings  with  the  fact  of  these  sports  being  uncommonly 
successful. 

The  reader  will  naturally  conclude  that  the  offer  of  this 
large  reward  produced  some  sensation  in  and  about  the 
city.  People  stopped  along  the  streets,  read  the  curious 
hand-bill,  smiled,  and  made  various  remarks.  Ladies, 
always  curious  to  know  what  is  prominent  among  the  current 
events  of  the  day,  sent  servants  to  ascertain  what  so 
attractive  the  posters  contained.  It  was,  indeed,  a  regular 
bit  of  self-enjoyed  fun  for  them ;  for  the  ladies  had  all 
heard  of  Pringle  Blowers,  and  that  a  female  slave  for  whose 
capture  he  would  give  three  hundred  dollars  had  run  away 
from  him  they  were  heartily  glad  to  learn. 

The  day-police  were  equally  happy  to  hear  of  the  loss,  and 
anxious  to  make  the  capture.  In  this  position  it  was  doubly 
necessary  to  be  cautious  in  proceeding  to  effect  the  escape 
of  the  fair  girl.  If  discovered  in  the  act  the  stranger  might 
be  subjected  to  a  series  of  inprisonments  that  would 
sacrifice  his  life.  Again,  he  might  be  assassinated  by  some 
disguised  hand ;  or,  if  an  infuriated  mob  were  let  loose 
upon  him,  no  police  interference  could  save  his  life.  As 
suspicion  is  ever  on  the  point  of  giving  out  its  dangerous 
caprices  where  a  community  live  fearing  one  another,  so  the 
stranger  became  sensible  of  the  shafts  of  suspicion  that 
might  at  any  moment  be  darted  at  him.  Despatching  his 
schooner  on  her  voyage,  he  continued  for  several  days  walking 
about  the  city,  as  if  indifferent  to  what  was  passing.  He 
read  the  curious  poster  in  which  was  offered  the  goodly 
reward  for  the  apprehension  of  a  lost  slave,  affected  great 
coolness,  and  even  ignorance  of  the  mode  by  which  such 
articles  were  recovered. 

Fortunate  was  it  for  the  stranger  that  he  despatched  the 
schooner  without  the  prize  he  intended  to  carry  off,  for  no 
sooner  had  she  got  under  way  and  begun  to  move  down 
the  harbour,  than  she  was  boarded  by  four  men,  who, 
producing  their  authority,  searched  her  from  stem  to  stern. 
Such  were  their  suspicions,  that  they  would  not  be  satisfied 
until  they  had  opened  a  few  boxes  and  bales  that  were 


480  OTHER  PHASES  OF  THE  SUBJECT. 

stowed  away  in  the  hold.  This  done,  the  schooner  was 
permitted  to  continue  her  voyage,  and  the  stranger,  unmo 
lested,  continues  his  walks  about  the  city.  A  few  days  pass  and 
the  excitement  has  calmed  down.  Pringle  Blowers,  although 
chagrined  at  the  loss  of  his  valuable  piece  of  woman  property, 
resolves  to  wait  the  issue  with  patience  and  forbearance. 
If  she,  fool  like,  has  made  away  with  herself,  he  cannot  bring 
her  to  life ;  if  she  be  carried  off  by  villainous  kidnappers, 
they  must  eventually  suffer  the  consequences.  Her  beauty 
will  expose  their  plots.  He  will  absorb  his  usual  require 
ment  of  spirit,  keep  the  nerve  up,  and  never  despond  of 
regaining  her  while  his  reward  of  three  hundred  dollars 
stands  before  a  money-loving  public.  He  would  rather 
have  lost  two  dozen  common  niggers  than  this  one  he  set 
so  much  by,  intended  to  make  so  much  of,  and  upon  whom 
he  had  set  his  very  heart,  soul,  and  burning  passions.  But 
there  is  no  profit  in  grief,  no  use  in  giving  way  to 
disappointment.  Philosophers  bear  disappointments  with 
fortitude  ;  he  must  be  a  philosopher,  keep  a  sharp  look  out 
and  not  despair. 

How  different  is  the  scene  presented  at  Hosebrook's 
Villa !  There,  Annette  is  seen,  prepared  to  take  her 
departure.  Dressed  in  male  attire,  with  frock  coat  and 
trousers  setting  so  neatly,  dress  boots,  white  vest,  and 
brightly  arranged  shirt-bosom,  she  is  the  type  of  perfection 
of  a  youthful  southron.  Franconia  has  expended  her  skill 
in  completing  the  fair  girl's  toilet,  when  Mrs.  Itosebrook 
places  a  pair  of  green  spectacles  over  her  eyes,  bids  her 
look  in  the  glass,  and  tells  her  she  will  pass  for  a  planter's 
son  among  a  million. 

"Nobody  will  know  me,  now,"  she  answers,  viewing 
herself  in  the  mirror.  Her  neat  setting  suit,  Panama  hat, 
and  green  spectacles,  give  a  peculiar  air  to  her  lithe  figure. 
And  though  her  emotions  are  well  nigh  ready  to  give  forth 
tears,  she  cannot  suppress  a  smile  at  the  singular  transfor 
mation  of  her  person. 

"  It'll  take  sharper  eyes  than  policemen's  to  discover  the 
disguise,"  says  Bosebrook,  who,  having  ordered  a  carriage 
to  the  door,  enters  the  room  and  takes  her  kindly  by  the 
hand.  "  Keep  up  a  good  heart ;  don't  despond,  my  child, 
and  the  chances  are  that  you'll  be  safe — you'll  be  in  Wil 
mington  to-morrow  morning,"  he  continues :  then,  turning 


OTHER  PHASES  OF  THE  SUBJECT.  481 

to  Pranconia,  who  will  accompany  her  to  that  place,  he 
awaits  her  pleasure.  "  I  am  ready !"  returns  that  generous 
•woman,  as,  arrayed  in  her  travelling  dress,  she  takes  Annette 
by  the  hand,  and  is  about  to  proceed  to  the  gate  where  the 
carriage  waits.  Mrs.  Rosebrook  must  take  oue  more  fond 
parting.  Laying  her  right  arm  over  her  shoulder,  and 
pressing  her  to  her  bosom,  she  kisses  and  kisses  her  fair 
cheek,  bids  her  remember  that  God  alone  is  her  protector, 
her  guide  to  a  happy  future.  In  freedom  may  she  live  to 
freedom's  God ;  in  slavery,  hope  ever,  and  trust  in  his 
mercy  !  With  this  admonition,  the  excited  girl,  trembling, 
leaves  the  Villa,  leaning  on  Franeonia's  arm.  Bradshaw  has 
the  carriage  at  the  door,  piled  with  sundry  boxes  and  port 
manteaus,  giving  it  the  appearance  of  a  gentleman's  travelling 
equipage.  He  has  orders  to  drive  to  the  steam-boat  landing, 
where  the  young  invalid  planter  will  embark  for  New  York 
via  Wilmington  and  the  land  route.  Soon  they  have  taken 
their  seats,  and  with  Eoseb rook's  good-natured  face  shining 
beside  Bradshaw,  on  the  front  seat,  they  say  their  happy 
adieu  !  and  bound  over  the  road  for  the  steamer. 

It  is  now  within  fifteen  minutes  of  the  starting  time. 
The  wharf  presents  a  bustling  scene :  carriages  and  coaches 
are  arriving  with  eager-looking  passengers,  who,  fearing 
they  are  a  little  behind  time,  stare  about  as  if  bewildered, 
scold  heedless  drivers,  point  out  their  baggage  to  awkward 
porters  who  run  to  and  fro  with  trunks  and  boxes  on  their 
heads,  and  then  nervously  seek  the  ticket-office,  where  they 
procure  the  piece  of  paper  that  insures  them  through  to  New 
York.  Albeit,  finding  they  have  quite  time  enough  on  their 
hands,  they  escort  their  female  voyagers  on  board,  and 
loiter  about  in  the  way  of  every  one  else,  enjoying  that 
excitement  in  others  which  they  have  fortunately  passed 
through.  Here  and  there  about  the  wharf,  leaning  their  heads 
carelessly  over  black  piles,  are  sly-looking  policemen,  who 
scan  every  voyager  with  a  searching  eye.  They  are  incog., 
but  the  initiated  recognise  them  at  a  glance.  The  restless 
leer  of  that  lynx  eye  discovers  their  object ;  anything,  from 
a  runaway  nigger  to  a  houseless  debtor,  is  to  them  accept 
able  prey.  Atween  decks  of  the  steamer,  secured  at  tho 
end  of  the  wharf,  another  scene  of  bustle  and  confusion 
presents  itself.  A  passenger  is  not  quite  sure  his  baggage 
is  all  on  board,  and  must  needs  waste  his  breath  in  oatha 

II 


482  OTHER  PHASES  OF  THE  SUBJECT. 

at  the  dumb  porter,  who  works  at  his  utmost  strength, 
under  the  direction  of  Mr.  Mate,  whose  important  figure  is 
poised  OQ  the  wharf.  Another  wants  to  "  lay  over"  at 
Richmond,  and  is  using  most  abusive  language  to  a  mulatto 
waiter,  who  has  put  his  trunk  on  one  side  of  the  boat  and 
carpet  bag  on  the  other.  A  third,  a  fussy  old  lady  with 
two  rosy-faced  daughters  she  is,  against  her  southern  prin 
ciples,  taking  to  the  north  to  be  educated,  is  making  a  piteous 
lamentation  over  the  remains  of  two  bonnets — just  from  the 
hands  of  the  milliner — hopelessly  smashed  in  her  bandbox. 
The  careless  porter  set  it  on  a  pile  of  baggage,  from  where  it 
tottled  over  under  the  feet  of  an  astonished  gentleman,  who 
endeavours  to  soothe  the  good  lady's  feelings  with  courteous 
apologies.  On  the  upper  deck,  heeding  no  one,  but  now  and 
then  affecting  to  read  a  newspaper,  as  passengers  pace  to  and 
fro,  is  the  stranger,  seated  on  one  of  the  side  seats.  The 
engineer  moves  his  valve  now  and  then,  the  cross -head 
ascends,  the  steam  hisses  below,  the  condenser  rumbles, 
the  steam  from  the  funnel  roars  furiously  forth,  spreading 
its  scalding  vapour  through  the  air.  Again,  the  man, 
almost  imperceptibly  touches  the  iron  rod  with  his  finger,  the 
magic  monster  again  moves  its  piston  downward,  the  wheels 
make  a  turn,  the  massive  vessel  surges  upon  her  lines,  as 
if  eager  to  press  forward  on  her  course.  Another  gentle 
touch,  and,  obeying  the  summons,  the  motive  power  is  still ; 
the  man  subjects  the  monster  with  his  little  finger.  He 
has  stopped  her  near  the  centre,  where,  with  a  slight 
touch,  he  can  turn  back  or  forward.  Again,  he  lifts  a  small 
key,  and  the  steam,  with  a  deafening  roar,  issues  from  the 
escape  :  he  is  venting  his  chest.  Simultaneously  the  second 
bell  sounds  forth  its  clanking  medley :  two  minutes  more, 
and  the  snake-like  craft  will  be  buffeting  the  waves,  on  her 
daily  errand.  As  passengers  begin  to  muster  on  board, 
their  friends  clustering  round  the  capsill  of  the  wharf, 
obstructing  the  way,  the  sturdy  figure  of  Mr.  Pringle 
Blowers  may  be  seen  behind  a  spile  near  the  capsill,  his 
sharp,  peering  eyes  scanning  the  ship  from  fore  to  aft.  He 
is  not  sure  she  will  get  off  by  this  route ;  common  sense 
tells  him  that,  but  there  exists  a  prompting  something 
underneath  common  sense  telling  him  it's  money  saved  to 
keep  a  sharp  look-out.  And  this  he  does  merely  to 
gratify  that  inert  something,  knowing  at  the  same  time 


OTHER  PHASES  OF  THE  SUBJECT.  483 

that,  having  no  money,  no  person  will  supply  her,  and  she 
must  be  concealed  in  the  swamps,  where  only  "  niggers" 
will  relieve  her  necessities.  At  this  moment  Eosebrook's 
carriage  may  be  seen  driving  to  the  ticket  office  at  the  head  of 
the  wharf,  where  Eosebrook,  with  great  coolness,  gets  out, 
steps  within  the  railing,  and  procures  the  tickets  in  his  own 
name.  Again  taking  his  seat,  the  mate,  who  stands  on 
the  capsill  of  the  wharf,  now  and  then  casting  a  glance  up, 
cries  out,  "Another  carriage  corning !"  Bradshaw  cracks  his 
whip,  and  the  horses  dash  down  the  wharf,  scatter  the  people 
who  have  gathered  to  see  the  boat  off,  as  a  dozen  black 
porters,  at  the  mate's  command,  rush  round  the  carriage, 
seize  tho  baggage,  and  hurry  it  on  board.  Eosebrook, 
fearing  his  friends  will  lose  their  passage,  begs  people  to  clear 
the  gangway,  and  almost  runs  on  board,  his  fugitive  charge 
clinging  to  his  arms.  The  captain  stands  at  the  gangway, 
and  recognising  the  late  coiner,  makes  one  of  his  blandest 
bows:  he  will  send  a  steward  to  show  them  a  good  state-room. 
"  Keep  close  till  the  boat  leaves,  and  remember  there  is  a 
world  before  you,"  Eosebrook  says,  shaking  Annette  by  the 
hand,  as  she  returns,  "  God  bless  good  master  !"  They  are 
safe  in  the  state-room :  he  kisses  Franconia's  cheek, 
shuts  the  door,  and,  hurrying  back,  regains  the  wharf  just 
as  the  last  bell  strikes,  and  the  gangway  is  being  carried 
on  board. 

"  Not  going  along  with  us,  eh  ?"  ejaculates  the  captain, 
as,  from  the  capsill,  Eosebrook  looks  round  to  bid  him 
good-by. 

"  !N"ot  to-day  (he  returns,  laconically).  Take  good  care 
of  my  friends ;  the  young  invalid  from  Lousiana  in  par 
ticular."  Just  then  he  catches  the  stranger's  eye,  and, 
with  a  significant  motion  of  his  fingers,  says,  "All  safe!" 
With  a  nod  of  recognition  the  stranger  makes  his  adieu ; 
the  fastenings  are  cast  away,  the  faint  tinkle  of  a  bell  is 
heard  amid  the  roar  of  steam ;  the  man  at  the  valves 
touches  the  throttle  bar;  up  mounts  the  piston  rod — down 
it  surges  again  ;  the  revolving  wheels  rustle  the  water ;  the 
huge  craft  moves  backward  easy,  and  then  ahead ;  a  clanking 
noise  denotes  the  connections  are  "hooked  on,"  and  onward 
she  bounds  over  the  sea.  How  leaps  with  joy  that  heart 
yearning  for  freedom,  as  the  words  "  She's  away !" 
gladden  Annette's  very  soul !  Her  enraptured  feelings 


484  OTHEE  PHASES  OF  THE  SUBJECT. 

gush  forth  in  prayer  to  her  deliverers  ;  it  is  as  a  new  spring 
of  life,  infusing  its  refreshing  waters  into  desert  sands. 
She  seems  a  new  being,  with  hope,  joy,  and  happiness 
brightening  the  future  for  her.  But,  alas  !  how  vain  are 
hopes, — how  uncertain  the  future  ! 

Rosebrook  watched  the  steaming  craft  as  she  crosses  the 
bar,  and  dwindles  out  of  sight.  "  Thou  art  safe,  poor 
slave,"  he  says  to  himself,  as  she  passes  from  view  behind 
the  distant  peak. 

Something  touches  him  on  the  shoulder  as  he  returns  to 
his  carriage.  "  Ah !  this  you,  Pringle  Blowers  ?"  he  ex 
claims,  turning  round  suddenly,  as  the  full  face  of  that 
important  personage  presented  itself.  "  Been  seeing  some 
friends  off  to ?" 

"  No,"  replies  Blowers,  with  seeming  indifference.  He 
is  just  shying  round, — keeping  an  eye  out  for  a  smart  kind 
of '"  a  gal,"  lost  last  week. 

"  Quite  a  misfortune,  that,  Blowers !  God  bless  me,  I'm 
sorry,"  returns  llosebrook,  dryly.  Rosebrook  invites  him 
to  get  in  and  ride  a  short  distance.  Blowers  has  not  the 
slightest  objection ;  seats  his  square  frame  on  the  left  side 
of  the  carriage.  "  Those  were  clever  posters  you  put  on* 
for  the  apprehension  of  fchat  girl,  Blowers !" 

"Took  some  genius,  I  reckon,"  interrupts  Blowers,  with 
broad  laugh. 

"  They  say  she  was  very  handsome,  and,  if  it  be  true,  I  hope 
you  may  get  her,  Blowers,"  continues  Rosebrook,  naively. 

The  disappointed  man  shakes  his  head,  touches  the  other  on 
the  arm,  and  says,  "  Nothing  is  more  sure  !  " 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

i 

HOW  DADDT  BOB  DEPARTED. 

LET  us  again  beg  the  indulgence  of  the  reader,  while  we  go 
back  to  the  night-  when  Marston  was  found  dead  in  his 
cell,  and  when  that  old  negro,  whose  eventful,  history  we 
shall  here  close,  sat  by  his  bed-side,  unconscious  that  the 
spirit  of  master  had  winged  its  way  to  another  world.  Bob, 
faithful  unto  death,  remained  his  lone  watcher.  Disguising 
his  ownership,  he  has  toiled  from  day  to  day  that  the  fruits 
thereof  might  relieve  master's  necessities ;  and  he  had 
shared  them  with  the  flowing  goodness  of  a  simple  heart. 
In  a  malarious  cell,  how  happy  was  he  to  make  his  bed  on 
the  cold  plank  beside  his  master's  cot,  where  he  might 
watch  over  his  declining  spirit.  Kindness  was  his  by  nature, 
— no  cruel  law  could  rob  his  heart  of  its  treasure  :  he  would 
follow  master  to  the  grave,  and  lavish  it  upon  the  soil  that 
covered  him. 

Having  accompanied  Frauconia  to  the  Rosebrook  Villa,  he 
will  return  to  the  prison  and  join  Harry,  alone  watching  over 
the  dead.  The  city  clock  strikes  the  hour  of  eleven  as  he  leaves 
the  outer  gate,  and  turns  into  the  broad  road  leading  to 
the  city.  The  scene  before  him  is  vamped  in  still  darkness ; 
a  murky  light  now  and  then  sheds  its  glimmers  across  the 
broad  road ;  and  as  he  hurries  onward,  contemplating  the 
sad  spectacle  presented  in  the  prison,  happy  incidents  of 
old  plantation  life  mingle  their  associations  with  his  thoi%hts. 
He  muses  to  himself,  and  then,  as  if  bewildered,  commences 
humming  his  favourite  tune — "  There's  a  place  for  old  nias'r 
yet,  when  all 'um  dead  and  gone !"  His  soul  is  free  from, 
suspicion  :  he  fears  not  the  savage  guardsman's  coming  ;  the 
pure  kindliness  of  his  heart  is  his  shield.  How  often  has 
lie  scanned  this  same  scene, — paced  this  same  road  on  his 
master's  errands !  How  death  has  changed  the  circum 
stances  of  this  his  nightly  errand !  Far  away  to  the  east, 
on  his  left,  the  broad  landscape  seems  black  and  ominous ; 
before  him,  the  sleeping  city  spreads  its  panorama,  broken 


4(86  HOW  DADDY  BOB  DEPABTED. 

and  sombre,  beneath  heavy  clouds ;  the  fretted  towers 
on  the  massive  prison  frown  dimly  through  the  mist  to  the 
right,  from  which  a  low  marshy  expanse  dwindles  into 
the  dark  horizon.  And  ever  and  anon  the  forked  lightning 
courses  its  way  through  the  heavens,  now  tinging  the 
sombre  scene  with  mellow  light,  then  closing  it  in  deeper 
darkness. 

Onward  the  old  man  wends  his  way.  If  he  be  shut 
out  from  the  prison,  he  will  find  shelter  at  Jane's  cabin 
near  by,  from  whence  he  may  reach  the  cell  early  next 
morning.  Presently  the  dull  tramp  of  horses  breaks  upon 
his  ear, — the  sound  sharpening  as  they  advance.  Through  the 
dimming  haze  he  sees  two  mounted  guardsmen  advancing  : 
the  murmuring  sound  of  their  conversation  floats  onward 
through  the  air,— their  side  arms  rattle  ominously.  Now 
their  white  cross  belts  are  disclosed  ;  their  stalwart  figures 
loom  out.  Nearer  and  nearer  they  approach :  as  the  old 
man,  trembling  with  fear,  remembers  he  is  without  a  pass, 
a  gruff  voice  cries  out,  "  Stop  there  !" 

"  A  prowling  nigger !"  rejoins  another,  in  a  voice  scarcely 
less  hoarse.  .  The  old  man  halts  in  the  light  of  a  lamp, 
as  the  right-hand  guard  rides  up,  and  demands  his  pass. 

"Whose  nigger  are  you?"  again  demands  the  first  voice. 
"  Tour  pass,  or  come  with  us  !" 

The  old  man  has  no  pass  ;  he  will  go  to  his  master,  dead 
in  the  county  prison  ! 

Guardsmen  will  hear  neither  falsehoods  nor  pleading.  He 
doesn't  know  "  whose  nigger  he  is !  he  is  a  runaway 
without  home  or  master,"  says  the  left-hand  guardsman,  as 
he  draws  his  baton  from  beneath  his  coat,  and  with  savage 
grimace  makes  a  threatening  gesture.  Again  he  poises  it 
over*the  old  man's  head,  as  he,  with  hand  uplifted,  suppli 
cates  mercy.  "  Nobody's  nigger,  and  without  a  pass  /"  he 
grumbles  out,  still  motioning  his  baton. 

"  He  says  his  master  is  in  gaol ;  that's  enough!  Stop,  now, 
no  more  such  nonsense !"  rejoins  the  other,  as  the  old  man  is 
about  to  explain.  "Not  another  word."  He  is  good 
prey,  made  and  provided  by  the  sovereign  law  of  the  state. 
Placing  him  between  their  horses,  they  conduct  him  in 
silence  forward  to  the  guard-house.  He  is  a  harmless  captive, 
in  a  world  where  democracy  with  babbling  tongue  boasts 
of  equal  justice.  "  A  prowler !"  exclaims  one  of  the  guards- 


HOW  DADDY  BOB  DEPABTED.  487 

men,  as,  dismounting  in  front  of  the  massive  building,  with 
frowning  facade  of  stone,  they  disappear,  leading  the  old 
man  within  its  great  doors,  as  the  glaring  gas-light  reflects 
upon  his  withered  features. 

"  Pound  prowling  on  the  neck,  sir  !"  says  the  right-hand 
guardsman,  addressing  himself  to  the  captain,  a  portly-look 
ing  man  in  a  military  suit,  who,  with  affected  importance, 
casts  a  look  of  suspicion  at  the  old  man.  "  Have  seen  you 
before,  I  think?"  he  enquires. 

"  Beckon  so,  mas'r ;  but  neber  in  dis  place,"  replies  Bob, 
in  half-subdued  accents. 

"  You  are  nobody's  nigger,  give  a  false  account  of  your 
self,  and  have  no  home,  I  hear,"  interrupts  the  captain,  at 
the  same  time  ordering  a  clerkly-looking  individual  who 
sits  at  a  desk  near  an  iron  railing  enclosing  a  tribune,  to 
make  the  entry  in  hi  shook. 

'  Your  name  ?"  demands  the  clerk. 

'Bob!" 

'  Without  owner,  or  home?" 

'My  master's  cell  was  my  home." 

'That  won't  do,  my  man!"  interrupts  the  portly -looking 
captain.  "Mr.  Clerk  (directing  himself  to  that  functionary) 
you  must  enter  him — nobody's  nigger,  without  home  or 
master."  And  as  such  he  is  entered  upon  that  high  record 
of  a  sovereign  state — the  guard-house  calendar.  If  this 
record  were  carried  before  the  just  tribunal  of  heaven,  how 
foul  of  crime,  injustice,  and  wrong,  would  its  pages  be 
found !  The  faithful  old  man  has  laboured  under  an  assumed 
ownership.  His  badge,  procured  for  him  through  the 
intercession  of  Franconia,  shows  him  as  the  property  of 
Mr.  Henry  Frazer.  That  gentleman  is  many  hundred 
miles  away :  the  old  man,  ignorant  of  the  barbarous  intri 
cacy  of  the  law,  feels  it  to  his  sorrow.  The  production  of 
the  badge,  and  the  statement,  though  asserting  that  Miss 
Franconia  is  his  friend,  show  a  discrepancy.  His  statement 
has  no  truth  for  guardsmen ;  his  poor  frame  is  yet  worth 
something,  but  his  oath  has  no  value  in  law :  hence  he 
must  march  into  a  cold  cell,  and  there  remain  till  morning. 

Before  that  high  functionary,  the  mayor — whose  judg 
ments  the  Russian  Czar  might  blush  to  acknowledge  or 
affirm,— lie  is  arraigned  at  ten  o'clock  on  the  following  morn 
ing.  He  has  plenty  of  accusers, — no  one  to  plead  the  justice 


488  HOW  DADDY  BOB  DEPARTED. 

of  Ms  case.     A  plain  story  lie  would  tell,  did  tlie  law  and  "his 
"honour  grant  the  boon.     The  fatal  badge  showa  him  the 
property    of  Mr.   Henry  Frazer:    Mr.   Henry  Frazer  is 
nowhere  to  be  found,  and  the  statement  that  master  was  in 
prison  tends  to  increase  the  suspicions  against  him.     Against 
this  increasing  force  of  proof,  the  old  man  begs  his  honour 
will  send  to  the  prison,  where  master  will  be  found, — dead ! 
In  his   love  of  clemency  that   functionary   yields   to   the 
request.     There  looks  something  harmless  about   the  old 
negro,  something  that  warms  his  honour's   legal   coldness. 
An  officer  is  despatched,  and  soon  returns  with  a  description 
that  corresponds  with  the  old  man's.  "  He  waited  on  Marston, 
made  Marston's  cell  his  home  ;  but,  your  honour — and  . 
have*the   assurance   of  the  gaoler — he  was  not  Marston's 
nigger;  all  that  man's  niggers  were  sold  for  the  benefit  of 
his   creditors."       So   says   the    official,   returning    to    his 
august  master  with  cringing  servility.     His  honour,  in  the 
fulness  of   his  wisdom,  and  with    every   regard   for  legal 
straightforwardness    (his    honour  searched   into   the   pro- 
foundest  depths  of  the  "nigger  statutes"  while  learning  the 
tailoring  trade,  which  he  now  pursues  with  great  success), 
is  now  doubly  satisfied  that  the  negro  before  him  is  a  vaga 
bond — perhaps,  and  he  is  more  than  half  inclined  to  believe 
he  is,  the  very  marauder  who  has  been  committing  so  many 
depredations  about  the  city.     With  a  profound  admonition, 
wisdom  glowing  from  his  very  countenance  the  while,  he 
orders  him  twenty-nine  paddles  on  his  bare  posteriors, — is 
Borry  the  law    does   not  give   him   power   to   extend   the 
number.     And  with  compliments  for  the  lucky  fellows  who 
have   thus  timely  relieved  the  public  of  such  a  dangerous 
outlaw,  his  honour  orders  him   to  be  taken   away  to   that 
prison-house  where  even-handed  democracy  has   erected  a 
place  for  torturing  the  souls  of  men  who  love  liberty. 

He  will  get  the  stripes — large,  democratic  stripes, — gene 
rously  laid  on.  How  much  more  he  will  get  remains  for  a 
proud  state,  in  its  sovereign  littleness,  to  provide.  His 
honour,  feeling  his  duties  toward  the  state  discharged,  and 
his  precautionary  measures  for  the  protection  of  the  people 
fully  exemplified  in  this  awful  judgment,  orders  one  of  the 
officers  to  summon  Mr.  Ford  Eosdick,  a  distinguished 
gentleman  of  the  state's  own,  who,  he  is  quite  sure,  will  not 


HOW  DADDY  BOB  DEPABTED.  489 

neglect  her  more  important  interests.  Bob  has  no  interests 
in  this  world,  nor  doth  he  murmur  that  he  hath  not  eaten 
bread  for  fourteen  hours.  Kindliness  yet  lingers  in  his 
withered  face  as  he  goes  forth,  yields  submission  to  a  state's 
Injustice,  and  bares  his  back  before  he  eats. 

"  Return  him  after  administering  the  dressing,"  says  hia 
honour,  directing  his  remarks  to  the  official  about  to  lead 
his  victim  away.  That  functionary,  half  turning,  replies 
with  a  polite  bow. 

The  reader,  we  feel  assured,  will  excuse  a  description  of 
this  unsavoury  dressing,  beautifully  administered  on.  behalf 
of  a  republican  state  that  makes  it  a  means  of  crushing  out 
the  love  of  liberty.  Bob  has  received  his  dressing  and 
returned ;  but  he  has  no  tears  to  shed  for  democrats  who 
thus  degrade  him. 

Mr.  Ford  Fosdick,  a  gentleman  of  the  learned  profession, 
very  straight  of  person,  and  most  bland  of  manners,  is  what 
may  be  called  escheator  in  ordinary  to  the  state.  Keeping 
a  sharp  eye  on  her  interests,  he  has  anticipated  the  commands 
of  his  august  master,  presents  his  polite  person  very  un 
expectedly  in  his  honour's  court-room.  Fosdick,  in 
addition  to  an  excellent  reputation  for  being  the  very  best 
gentleman  "  nigger  grabber"  the  state  ever  had,  is  well 
thought  of  in  fashionable  circles,  having  fought  two  duels  of 
the  most  desperate  character.  He  is  of  middle  stature, 
with  a  face  finely  oval,  and  to  which  are  added  features  of 
much  softness,  altogether  giving  him  more  the  appearance 
of  a  well-ordained  divine,  than  the  medium  of  those  high 
functions  by  which  the  state's  "  grab-all"  of  homeless  negroes 
distinguishes  himself.  If  the  state  tolerated  an  ignominy, 
Ford  Fosdick — between  whom  there  exists  a  mutual 
partnership— found  in  it  an  apology  for  the  part  he  played  ; 
for — let  no  man  blush  when  we  tell  it — the  sum  total  for 
which  friendless,  homeless,  and  ownerless  negroes  sold  for 
in  the  market  was  equally  divided  between  them.  Generous 
as  was  this  copartnership,  there  were  few  well-disposed 
persons  independent  enough  to  sanction  it;  while  here  and 
there  an  outspoken  voice  said  it  was  paying  a  premium  for 
edging  Fosdick's  already  sharp  appetite  for  apprehending 
the  wretched,  who— God  save  the  state's  honour  .'—having  no 
means  of  protecting  themselves,  would  be  sold  for  the 
sovereign  interests  of  his  own  pocket,  instead  of  the  peace 


HOW  DADDY  BOB  DEPARTED. 

of  the  dear  people,  of  which  the  state  was  ever  jealous. 
Mr.  Fosdick  is  present, — thanks  his  honour  the  mayor: 
he  thinks  he  has  seen  the  negro  before  ;  that  he  is  a  prowler 
not  a  doubt  can  exist.  Quite  indifferent  as  to  his  own  interests, 
he  says  the  city  is  literally  beset  with  such  vermin  :  in  his 
own  mind,  however,  he  has  not  a  doubt  but  that  something 
handsome  will  be  realised  from  the  sale  of  the  old  fellow. 
There  is  now  a  most  fearful  case  in  the  city, — a  negro 
belonging  to  Mr.  Grabguy  has  become  mad  with  dis 
obedience  :  they  have  chained  him  to  the  floor,  but  he  sets 
everything  at  defiance,  threatens  the  lives  of  all  who  come 
near  him, — says  he  will  die  or  be  free.  Against  this  there  is 
little  hope  for  old  Bob ;  his  crooked  story  will  not  suit  the 
high  considerations  of  these  amiable  worthies  of  state :  he 
must  be  siezed  and  dragged  to  the  workhouse,  there  to 
await  the  result.  It  is  a  profitable  morning's  work  for 
Mr.  Ford  Fosdick,  who  makes  a  large  note  in  his  ledger, 
and  will  soon  carry  out  a  very  acceptable  item  on  behalf  of 
his  dear  self.  So,  while  Bob  eats  his  corn-grits  in  a  cell,  and 
his  heart  beats  high  with  purity,  Mr.  Ford  Fosdick  revels  in 
luxury  he  thinks  not  ill-gotten. 

Due  notice,  in  accordance  with  the  statutes,  is  given  to 
all  persons  whomsoever  may  claim  a  piece  of  property 
answering  the  description  of  Daddy  Bob,  as  herein  set  forth. 
Weeks  pass,  but  no  one  comes  to  claim  Bob.  In  the  eyes 
of  an  ignoble  law  he  is  a  cast  out,  homeless  upon  the  world; 
and  as  such  must  be  sold.  He  is  put  up  at  the  man- 
shambles,  and,  by  order  of  Mr.  Ford  Fosdick,  sold  to  Mr. 
Cordes  Kemp  for  the  sum  of  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars, 
one  half  of  which  sum  is  the  state's  own,  the  other  Mr. 
Ford  Fosdick's.  Mr.  Cordes  Kemp  had  seen  Bob  working 
about  the  wharf,  and  learned  that  the  old  man  was  of  more 
value  than  his  outward  appearance  indicated,  inasmuch  as 
he  was  a  good  carpenter ;  which  we  have  not  before  informed 
the  reader.  But  Bob  had  never  been  accustomed  to  a  cruel 
master :  such  Cordes  Kemp  was  to  the  fullest  extent  of 
the  term.  A  few  months  passed,  and  Bob  became  heartily 
sick  of  his  new  master,  who  gave  him  little  to  eat,  and  had 
nearly  ended  his  life  with  labour  and  the  lash.  Finding  he 
could  no  longer  stand  such  treatment,  he  fled  to  the  swamp  ; 
and  for  two  years  did  he  make  his  home  among  the 
morasses  and  hillocks,  now  making  his  bed  by  the  trunk  of 


HOW  DADDY  BOB  DEPAETED.  491 

a  fallen  tree,  then  seeking  shelter  in  a  temporary  camp 
built  with  the  axe  he  carried  away  with  him.  At  times  he  was 
forced  to  make  food  of  roots,  nuts,  and  such  wild  fruit  as 
the  woods  afforded ;  and  as  the  ravens  found  food,  so  the 
outcast  man  did  not  suffer  while  an  all-wise  Providence 
watched  over  him.  And  then  he  found  a  kind  friend  in  old 
Jerushe — Aunt  Jerushe,  as  she  was  commonly  called,  who 
lived  on  a  plantation  a  few  miles  from  his  hiding-place, 
and  met  him  at  night,  and  shared  her  coarse  meal  with 
him.  Jerushe's  heart  was  full  of  kindness;  she  would 
have  given  him  more,  but  for  the  want  thereof.  Full  two 
years  did  even-handed  democracy  drive  the  old  man  home 
less  to  seek  a  shelter  among  the  poisonous  reptiles  of  the 
morass.  Mr.  Cordes  Kemp  must  regain  his  property,  and 
to  that  generous  end  he  puts  forth  the  following  extremely 
southern  proclamation,  which  may  be  found  in  all  respect 
able  morning  journals,  on  posters  hung  at  the  "  Hough  and 
Ready,"  at  "Tour  House,"  and  at  "Our  House": — 
"  SEVENTY-FIVE  (75)  DOI/LAES  REWARD  is  offered  for  the 
delivery  of  my  old  negro  carpenter  man  named  BOB,  in 
gaol  in  Charleston,  within  a  month  from  this  date.  The 
said  BOB  is  a  complete  carpenter,  about  sixty-five  years  of 
age,  has  a  fine,  full,  good-natured  face,  knock-kneed,  bald- 
headed,  and  ran  away  about  two  years  ago :  he  is  thought 
to  be  harboured  in  Charleston  or  James'  Island.  He  was 
bought  of  Mr.  Ford  Fosdick,  on  behalf  of  the  state. 

June  28,  COEDES  KEMP." 

Mr.  Cordes  Kemp,  sorely  grieved  at  the  loss  of  so 
venerable  and  valuable  a  piece  of  property, — and  which  he 
bought  of  the  state,  for  the  rights  of  which  he  is  a  great 
champion, — will  give  the  above  sum  in  hard  cash  to  the 
clever  fellow  who  will  secure  it  within  a  prison,  so  he  may 
get  it.  If  this  cannot  be  done,  he  will  declare  him  an 
outlaw,  offer  a  premium  for  the  old  man's  head,  and,  with 
the  bleeding  trophy,  demand  the  premium  paid  by  the 
state.  However,  seventy-five  dollars  is  no  mean  offer  for 
so  old  a  negro,  and  as  the  said  negro  cannot  be  a  fast 
runner,  the  difficulty  of  catching  him  will  not  be  very  great, 
while  the  sport  will  be  much  more  exciting.  Romescos 
and  Dan  Bengal  keep  a  sharp  look-out  for  all  such  little 
chances  of  making  money ;  and  as  their  dogg  are  considered 


492  HOW  DADDY  BOB  DEPABTED. 

the  very  best  and  savagest  in  the  country,  they  feel  certain 
they  will  be  able  to  deliver  the  article  over  to  Mr.  Kemp  in 
a  very  few  days. 

A  few  days  after  the  appearance  of  Mr.  Cordes  Kemp's 
proclamation,  these  two  worthies  may  be  seen  riding  along 
the  Cam  den  Road,  a  sandy  level,  with  little  to  indicate  its 
tortuous  course  save  a  beaten  and  irregular  path  through 
a  forest  of  stately  pines.  Their  reddish-coloured  home-spun 
clothes,  set  loosely,  and  their  large,  felt  hats,  siouching  over 
their  bearded  faces,  give  their  figures  a  brigand-like 
appearance  which  excites  apprehension.  They  are  heavily 
armed  with  rifles,  revolvers,  and  bowie-knives  ;  and  as  their 
horses  move  along  at  a  quick  walk,  the  riders  may  be  heard 
keeping  up  an  animated  discussion  on  matters  of  state 
policy.  The  state  and  its  policy  is  a  matter  of  deep 
interest  to  slave- dealer  and  slave-hunter ;  none  discuss 
them  with  more  pertinacity.  And  as  every  great  measure 
is  supposed  to  have  some  bearing,  directly  or  indirectly,  on 
the  right  of  one  class  to  enslave  the  other,  a  never-ceasing 
political  jar  is  kept  up  by  these  worthies,  and  too  often 
finds  its  way  into  the  puWic  acts  of  men  who  should  be  far 
removed  above  their  selfishness. 

The  horse  on  which  Romescos  rides,  a  sprightly  dark-bay, 
seeming  to  have  an  instinctive  knowledge  of  his  master's 
pursuit,  pricks  his  ears  erect,  and  keeps  his  head  turning 
from  one  side  to  the  other,  as  if  watching  the  approach  of 
some  object  in  the  forest.  A  few  paces  ahead  are  seven 
fierce  hounds,  now  scenting  about  the  ground,  then  scam 
pering  through  the  trees,  and  again,  quickly  obeying  the 
call,  return  to  the  horses.  Not  a  bark  is  heard,  not  a 
growl  escapes  them !  Nothing  could  be  under  more  explicit 
subjection — not  even  those  northern  dogs  who  pollute  their 
own  free  soil  by  making  it  a  forest,  where  the  souls  of  men 
are  humbled,  and  where,  willing  allies  of  the  sport,  they 
desecrate  that  holy  sentence,  "  Our  Pilgrim  Fathers  !" 

Presently  the  lean  figure  of  a  man  is  seen  advancing 
from  a  thicket  in  the  distance.  Rifle  in  hand  he  advances 
a  few  paces,  leans  against  the  trunk  of  a  pine  tree,  relieves 
his  shoulders  of  a  well-filled  haversack,  and  supports 
his  arms  on  the  stock  of  his  weapon,  the  muzzle  of  which 
he  sets  in  the  ground.  He  will  wait  the  horsemen's 
coming.  With  lightning  quickneos  the  hounds  start 


HOW  DADDY  BOB  DEPARTED.  493 

suddenly,  prick  up  their  ears,  make  a  bound  forward. 
"  Hold  there !"  exclaims  Eomescos,  at  the  same  time 
directing  Bengal's  attention  to  the  figure  far  away  to 
the  right.  His  horse  shies,  an  imprecation  quickly  follows  ; 
the  dogs  as  suddenly  obey  the  word,  and  crouch  back  to 
await  another  signal. 

"  Nothing,  I  reckon  !"  returns  Bengal,  coolly,  as  the  figure 
in  the  distance  is  seen  with  smoking  fusee  lighting  a  cigar. 

Eomescos  thinks  he  is  a  gentleman  returning  from 
hunting  in  the  big  swamp,  to  the  north.  He  has  a  kind  ot 
presentiment,  nevertheless,  that  some  lucky  prize  will  turn 
up  before  sunset. 

"  Well,  strangers,  what  luck  to  day  ?"  enquires  the  hunter, 
as  they  run  up  their  horses.  At  the  same  time  he  gracefully 
raises  a  delicate  hand,  relieves  his  mouth  of  the  cigar,  twists 
a  well-trimmed  mustache,  and  lifts  his  hunting-cap  from, 
off  his  head,  disclosing  a  finely-chiselled  face. 

"Not  a  shy  !"  replies  Eomescos,  taking  a  cigar  from  his 
side  pocket,  and  motioning  his  hand :  the  hunter  politely 
extends  his  habanua,  with  which  he  communicates  a  light 
to  his  own.  It  is  well  nigh  noon-day,  and  at  the  hunter's 
invitation  do  they  dismount,  seat  themselves  at  the  foot  of  the 
tree,  and  regale  with  bread,  cheese,  and  brandy,  he  draws 
from  his  haversack. 

"  Thought  ye'd  got  game  in  that,"  remarks  Bengal, 
measuredly.  Ho  has  scoured  the  woods,  but  found  little 
game  of  the  kind  he  hunts.  "  Our  game  is  of  a  different 
species  :  you,  I  take  it,'hunt  niggers,  I'm  in  search  of  birds." 
"  Would  have  no  objection  to  a  stray  deer  or  two  !"  is  the 
reply,  as  he  passes  his  horn  and  flask  to  Eomescos,  who 
helps  himself  to  a  dose  of  the  liquid,  which,  he  says,  smacking 
his  lips,  is  not  bad  to  take. 

"  Especially  when  yer  on  a  hunting  excursion !"  rejoins 
Bengal. 

"  Now,"  says  the  gentleman  hunter,  quietly  resuming  his 
cigar,  "  as  you  do  not  hunt  my  game,  nor  I  yours,  I  think 
I  can  give  you  a  scent  that  may  prove  profitable." 

"  Where  away  ?"  interrupts  Bengal.  Eomescos  respects 
the  stranger — he  has  dignity  concealed  beneath  his  hunting 
garb,  which  the  quick  eye  recognised  as  it  flashed  upon 
him.  He  gives  Bengal  a  significant  wink,  the  meaning  of 


494  HOW  DADDY  BOB  DEPARTED 

which  he  instinctively  understands — "  Don't  be  rude, — he 
belongs  to  one  of  the  first  families  !" 

The  stranger  lays  his  left  hand  on  Eomescos'  arm,  and 
with  the  fore  finger  of  his  right  hand  pointing  to  the  south 
west,  says,  "  My  plantation  is  nine  miles  in  that  direction. 
I  left  it  this  morning,  early.  In  crossing  an  inlet  of  the 
Pedee,  I  discovered  white  smoke,  far  ahead,  curling  upward 
through  the  trees,  and  expanding  itself  in  the  clear  blue 
atmosphere.  Peeling  sure  it  indicated  the  haunt  of  run 
aways,!  approached  it  stealthily,  and  had  almost  unconsciously 
come  upon  a  negro,  who,  suddenly  springing  from  his  hiding- 
place,  ran  to  the  water's  edge,  plunged  in,  and  swam  to  a 
little  island  a  few  yards  in  the  stream.  It  did  not  become 
me  to  pursue  him,  so  I  passed  on  heedlessly,  lest  he  might 
have  companions,  who  would  set  upon  me,  and  make  me  an 
easy  prey  to  their  revengeful  feelings."  As  each  word  fell 
from  the  stranger's  lips,  Eomescos  and  his  companion 
became  irresistibly  excited. 

Again  repeating  the  directions,  which  the  stranger  did 
with  great  precision,  they  drank  a  parting  social  glass  :  the 
mounted  huntsmen  thanked  the  pedestrian  for  his  valuable 
information,  gave  him  a  warm  shake  of  the  hand,  and,  as  he 
arranged  his  haversack,  rode  off  at  full  gallop  in  the  direction 
indicated.  The  dogs,  cunning  brutes,  trained  to  the  state's 
orutality,  mutely  kept  in  advance.  "  In  luck  yet !" 
exclaims  Bengal,  as  they  rode  onward,  in  high  glee,  antici 
pating  the  valuable  game  about  to  fall  into  their  hands. 

"Ho!  dogs — and  back  !"  shrieked  Rornescos,  at  the  top 
of  his  shrill  voice,  his  sandy  hair  hanging  in  tufts  over 
his  little  reddened  face,  now  glowing  with  excitement. 
Instantly  the  dogs  started  oft'  through  the  thicket,  and  after 
making  a  circle  of  about  a  mile,  returned  with  heads  up, 
and  eyes  fiercely  flashing.  Trailing  in  a  semicircle  ahead 
they  seemed  eager  for  another  command. 

"  Better  keep  them  back,"  mutters  Bengal ;  and  aa 
Eomescos  gives  the  word, — "  Come  back  !"  they  form  a 
trail  behind. 

Now  white  fleecy  clouds  begin  to  obscure  the  sun; 
then  it  disappears  in  a  murky  haze,  and  is  no  longer 
their  guide.  After  two  hours'  riding  they  find  a  wrong 
turn  has  led  them  far  away  from  their  course,  and  to 
avoid  retracing  their  steps  they  make  a  short  cut  through 


HOW  DADDY  BOB  DEPARTED.  495 

the  thicket.  In  another  hour  they  have  reached  the  bank 
of  the  stream  they  sought.  Dogs,  horses,  and  men,  toge 
ther  drink  of  its  limpid  waters,  and  proceed  onward.  They 
have  yet  several  miles  of  travel  before  reaching  the  spot 
designated  by  the  strange  hunter ;  and  seeking  their  way 
along  the  bank  is  a  slow  and  tedious  process.  The  prize — 
that  human  outcast,  who  has  no  home  where  democracy 
rules, — is  the  all-absorbing  object  of  their  pursuit ;  money 
is  the  god  of  their  hellish  purpose. 

It  is  near  night-fall,  when  they,  somewhat  wearied  of 
the  day's  ride,  halt  on  a  little  slope  that  extends  into  the 
river,  and  from  which  a  long  view  of  its  course  above  opens 
out.  It  seems  a  quiet,  inviting  spot,  and  so  sequestered 
that  Bengal  suggests  it  be  made  a  resting-place  for  the 
night. 

"  Not  a  whisper,"  says  Romescos.  who,  having  dis 
mounted,  is  nervously  watching  some  object  in  the  distance. 
It  is  a  pretty  spot,  clothed  in  softest  verdure.  How 
suddenly  the  quick  eye  of  .Romescos  discovered  the  white 
smoke  curling  above  the  green  foliage !  "  See  !  see  !"  he 
whispers  again,  motioning  his  hand  behind,  as  Bengal 
stretches  his  neck,  and  looks  eagerly  in  the  same  direction. 
"Close  dogs — close!"  he  demands,  and  the  dogs  crouch 
back,  and  coil  their  sleek  bodies  at  the  horses'  feet.  There, 
little  more  than  a  mile  ahead,  the  treacherous  smoke  curls 
lazily  upward,  spreading  a  white  haze  in  the  blue  atmosphere. 
Daddy  Bob  has  a  rude  camp  there.  A  few  branches  serve 
for  a  covering,  the  bare  moss  is  his  bed  ;  the  fires  of  his  heart 
would  warm  it,  were  nothing  more  at  hand  !  Xear  by  is  the 
island  on  which  he  seeks  refuge  when  the  enemy  approaches  ; 
and  from  this  lone  spot —  his  home  for  more  than  two 
years  —  has  he  sent  forth  many  a  fervent  prayer,  beseeching 
Almighty  God  to  be  his  shield  and  his  deliverer.  It  was 
but  yesterday  he  saw  Jerushe,  who  shared  with  him  her 
corn-cakes,  which,  when  she  does  not  meet  him  at  his 
accustomed  spot,  she  places  at  the  foot  of  a  marked  tree. 
Bob  had  added  a  few  chips  to  his  night  fire,  (his  defence 
against  tormenting  mosquitoes),  and  made  his  moss  bed. 
Having  tamed  an  owl  and  a  squirrel,  they  now  make  his  rude 
camp  their  home,  and  share  his  crumbs.  The  squirrel 
Eestles  above  his  head,  as  the  owl,  moping  about  the  camp 
entrance,  suddenly  hoots  a  warning  and  flutters  its  way 


496  HOW  BADDY  BOB  DEPARTED. 

f 

into  the  thicket.     Starting  to  his  feet  with  surprise the 

squirrel  chirping  at  the  sudden  commotion — the  tramp  of 
horses  breaks  fearfully  upon  the  old  man's  ear ;  bewildered 
he  bounds  from  the  camp.  Two  water  oaks  stand  a  few 
feet  from  its  entrance,  and  through  them  he  descries  his 
pursuers  bearing  down  upon  him  at  full  speed,  the  dogs 
making  the  very  forest  echo  with  their  savage  yelps.  They 
are  close  upon  him  ;  the  island  is  his  only  refuge  !  *  Suddenly 
he  leaps  to  the  bank,  plunges  into  the  stream,  and  with 
death-like  struggles  gains  the  opposite  shore,  where 
he  climbs  a  cedar,  as  the  dogs,  eager  with  savage  pursuit, 
follow  in  his  wake,  and  are  well  nigh  seizing  his  extremities 
ere  they  cleared  their  vicious  spring.  The  two  horsemen 
vault  to  the  spot  from  whence  the  old  man  plunged  into 
the  water  ;  and  while  the  dogs  make  hideous  ravings  beneath 
the  tree,  they  sit  upon  their  horses,  consulting,  as  the 
old  man,  from  the  tree  top,  looks  piteously  -over  the 
scene.  Life  has  few  charms  for  him ;  death  would  not 
be  unwelcome. 

The  tedious  journey,  and  disappointment  at  seeing  the 
old  man's  resolution,  has  excited  Romescos'  ire.  "He's  an- 
old  rack — not  worth  much,  but  he  doesn't  seem  like  Kemp's 
old  saw-horse,"  Romescos  remarks  to  Bengal,  as  his  hawk 
eye  scans  the  old  man  perched  among  the  cedar  brandies. 
They  are  not  more  than  forty  yards  apart,  and  within 
speaking  distance.  Bengal,  less  excited,  thinks  it  better  to 
secure  the  old  "  coon"  without  letting  the  dogs  taste  of  him. 

"They'll  only  hold  him  with  a  firm  grip,  when  he 
dismounts,  and  swim  him  safe  back,"  grumblingly  returns 
Romescos.  "J^ow!  old  nig" — Romescos  shouts  at  the 
top  of  his  voice,  directing  himself  to  the  old  man — -just  trot 
back  here  — come  along  !" 

The  old  man  shakes  his  head,  and  raises  his  hands,  as  if 
pleading  for  mercy. 

"  You  won't,  eh  ?"  returns  the  angry  man,  raising  his 
rifle  in  an  attitude  of  preparation.  Bengal  reminds 
Bomescos  that  his  horse  is  not  accustomed  to  firing  from 
the  saddle. 

"  I  will  larn  him,  then,"  is  the  reply. 

"  Mas'r,"  says  Bob,  putting  out  his  hand  and  uncovering 
his  bald  head,  "  I  can  harm  no  white  man.  Let  me  live 
where  'urn  is,  and  die  where  'um  is." 


HOW  DADDY  BOB  DEPARTED.  497 

"  None  o'  that  ar  kind  o'  nigger  talk ; — just  put  it  back 
here,  or  ye'll  get  a  plug  or  two  out  o'  this  long  Bill.  (He 
points  to  his  rifle.)  "  Ye'll  come  down  out  of  that — by 
heavens  you  will !" 

"Wing him;  don't  shoot  the  fool!"  suggests  Bengal,  aa 
the  old  man,  pleading  with  his  pursuers,  winds  his  body 
half  round  the  tree.  Tick !  tick  !  went  the  cock  of  Romescos' 
rifle ;  he  levelled  it  to  his  eye, — a  sharp  whistling  report 
rung  through  the  air,  and  the  body  of  the  old  man,  shot 
through  the  heart,  lumbered  to  the  earth,  as  a  deadly  shriek 
Sounds  high  above  the  echoes  over  the  distant  landscape — 
"Mas'r  in  heaven  take  'urn  and  have  mercy  on  'um !" 
gurgles  on  the  air :  his  body  writhes  convulsively — the 
devouring  clogs  spring  savagely  upon  the  ration — all  is  over 
with  the  old  slave  ! 

Instantly  with  the  report  of  the  rifle,  Bcinescos'  hoi-se 
darts,  vaults  toward  the  oaks,  halts  suddenly,  and,  ere  he 
has  time  to  grasp  the  reins,  throws  him  headlong  against 
one  of  their  trunks.  An  oath  escapes  his  lips  as  from  the 
saddle  he  lifted ;  not  a  word  more  did  he  lisp,  but  sank  on 
the  ground  a  corpse.  His  boon  companion,  forgetting  the 
dogs  in  their  banquet  of  flesh,  quickly  dismounts,  seizes  the 
body  in  his  arms,  the  head  hanging  carelessly  from  the 
shoulders  :  a  few  quivering  shrugs,  and  all  is  over.  "  Neck 
broken,  and  dead !"  ejaculates  the  affrighted  companion, 
resting  the  dead  hunter's  back  against  his  left  knee,  and 
with  his  right  hand  across  the  breast,  moving  the  head  to 
and  fro  as  if  to  make  sure  life  has  left. 

"  Poor  Anthony, — it's  a  bad  end  ;  but  the  state  should 
bury  him  with  honours ;  he  ware  the  best  'un  at  this  kind 
o'  business  the  state  ever  had,"  mutters  Bengal,  glancing 
revengefully  toward  the  island,  where  his  democratic  dogs 
are  busy  in  the  work  of  destruction.  Then  he  stretches 
the  lifeless  body  on  the  ground,  crosses  those  hands  full 
of  blood  and  treachery,  draws  a  handkerchief  from  his 
pocket,  spreads  it  over  the  ghastly  face  fast  discolouring, 
as  the  riderless  horse,  as  if  by  instinct,  bounds  back  to 
the  spot  and  suddenly  halts  over  his  dead  master,  where  he 
frets  the  ground  -with  his  hoof,  and,  with  nostrils  extended, 
scents  along  the  body.  Having  done  this,  as  if  in  sorrow, 
he  will  rest  on  the  ground  beside  him  j  slowly  he  lumbers 
K  K 


498  HOW  DADDY  BOB  DEPARTED. 

his  body  down,  his  head  and  neck  circled  toward  that  of  the 
lifeless  ruffian  on  the  ground. 

The  disconsolate  hunter  here  leaves  his  useless  companion, 
swims  the  stream,  recalls  the  gory-mouthed  dogs,  looks 
with  satisfaction  on  the  body  of  the  torn  slave.  "  You're 
settled  for,"  says  Bengal,  as  with  his  right  foot  he  kicks 
together  the  distended  and  torn  limbs.  "  Not  all  loss, 
yet!"  he  adds,  a  glow  of  satisfaction  infusing  his  face. 
With  the  ghastly  head  for  proof,  he  will  apply  for,  and 
perhaps  obtain,  the  state's  reward  for  the  despatch  of 
outlaws ;  and  with  the  gory  trophy  he  returns  across  the 
limpid  stream  to  his  hapless  companion,  who,  having 
watched  over  during  the  night,  he  will  convey  into  the  city 
to-morrow  morning.  Over  his  body  the  very  humorous 
Mr.  Brien  Moon  will  hold  one  of  those  ceremonies  called 
inquests,  for  which,  fourteen  dollars  and  forty  cents  being 
paid  into  his  own  pocket,  he  will  order  the  valueless  flesh 
under  the  sod,  handsomely  treating  with  cigars  and  drinks 
those  who  honour  him  with  their  presence. 

In  the  old  man's  camp,  a  hatchet,  a  few  bits  of  corn-bread, 
(old  Jerushe's  gift),  and  two  fresh  caught  fish,  are  found ; 
they  constituted  his  earthly  store.  But  he  was  happy,  for  his 
heart's  impulses  beat  high  above  the  conflict  of  a  State's 
wrongs.  That  spirit  so  pure  has  winged  its  way  to  another 
and  better  world,  where,  with  that  of  the  monster  who 
wronged  nature  while  making  cruelty  his  pastime,  it  will 
appear  before  a  just  God,  who  sits  in  glory  and  juageth 
justly. 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

HOW  SLAVEHOLDERS  FEAR  EACH  OTHER. 

THE  reader  will  please  remember  that  we  left  Nicholas, 
maddened  to  distraction  at  the  perfidy  of  which  Grabguy 
makes  him  the  victim,  chained  to  an  iron  ring  in  the  centre 
of  Graspum's  slave  pen.  In  addition  to  this  very  popular 
mode  of  subduing  souls  that  love  liberty,  his  wife  and 
children  are  sold  from  him,  the  ekings  of  his  toil,  so  care 
fully  laid  up  as  the  boon  of  his  freedom,  are  confiscated, 
and  the  wrong-doer  now  seeks  to  cover  his  character  by  pro 
claiming  to  a  public  without  sympathy  that  no  such  conven 
tion  existed,  no  such  object  entertained.  Grabguy  is  a  man 
of  position,  and  lady  Grabguy  moves  well  in  society  no 
way  vulgar  ;  but  the  slave  (the  more  honourable  of  the  two) 
hath  no  voice — he  is  nothing  in  the  democratic  world.  Of 
his  origin  he  knows  not  ;  and  yet  the  sting  pierces  deeper 
into  his  burning  heart,  as  he  feels  that,  would  justice  but 
listen  to  his  tale,  freedom  had  not  been  a  stranger.  No 
voice  in  law,  no  common  right  of  commoners,  no  power  to  ap 
peal  to  the  judiciary  of  his  own  country,  hath  he.  Over 
powered,  chained,  his  very  soul  tortured  with  the  lash,  he  still 
proclaims  his  resolution — "  death  or  justice  !"  He  will  no 
longer  work  for  him  who  has  stripped  away  his  rights,  and  while 
affecting  honesty,  would  crush  him  bleeding  into  the  earth. 

Grabguy  will  counsel  an  expedient  wherewith  further  to 
conceal  his  perfidy  ;  and  to  that  end,  with  seeming  honesty 
lady  Grabguy  would  have  her  fashionable  neighbours  believe 
sincere,  he  will  ship  the  oppressed  man  to  New  Orleans, 
there  to  be  sold. — "  Notwithstanding,  he  is  an  extremely 
valuable  nigger,"  he  says,  affecting  superlative  indif 
ference. 

"  I'd  rather  sell  him  for  a  song  than  he  should  disturb  the 
peace  of  the  city  thus."  To  New  Orleans  Mr.  Grabguy 
sends  his  unsubdued  property  ;  but  that  the  threatened  sale 
is  only  a  feint  to  more  effectually  dissolve  the  contract  and 


500  HOW  DEMOCRATS  LIVE  FEARING  ONE  ANOTHER. 

forfeit  the  money  paid  as  part  of  his  freedom,  he  soon 
becomes  fully  sensible.  Doubly  incensed  at  such  conduct 
the  fire  of  his  determination  burns  more  fiercely ;  if  no  jus 
tice  for  him  be  made  manifest  on  earth  his  spirit  is  consoled 
with  the  knowledge  of  a  reward  in  heaven.  Having 
tortured  for  months  the  unyielding  man,  Grabguy,  with 
blandest  professions  of  kindness,  commands  that  the  lacera 
ted  servant  be  brought  back  to  his  domicile.  Here,  with 
offers  of  kindness,  and  sundry  pretexts  of  his  sincerity,  the 
master  will  pledge  his  honour  to  keep  faith  with  his  slave. 
The  defrauded  wretch  knows  but  too  well  how  little  confi 
dence  he  can  place  in  such  promises ;  to  such  promises  does 
he  turn  a  deaf  ear.  Q-rabguy,  if  serious,  must  give  him 
back  his  wife,  his  children,  and  his  hard  earnings,  in  which 
the  joyous  hope  of  gaining  freedom  was  centred :  that 
hope  had  carried  him  through  many  trials.  Sad  is  the 
dilemma  in  which  Mr.  Grabguy  finds  himself  placed  ; 
simple  justice  to  the  man  would  have  long  since  settled 
the  question. 

And  now  Nicholas  is  a  second  time  sent  to  Graspum's 
pen,  where  living  men  are  chained  to  rings  of  fierce  iron  for 
loving  freedom  and  their  country.  Eor  twenty-two  days 
and  nights  is  he  chained  to  that  floor  where  his  soul  had 
before  been  tortured.  Threats  of  being  returned  to  New 
Orleans  again  ring'  their  leaden  music  in  his  ears, ;  but 
they  have  no  terrors  for  him  ;  his  indignant  spirit  has 
battled  with  torture  and  vanquished  its  smart — he  will 
defend  himself  iinto  death  rather  than  be  made  the  object 
of  a  sham  sale.  A  vessel  for  New  Orleans  waits  in  the 
harbour  a  fair  wind  for  sailing.  On  board  of  her  Mr. 
Grabguy  will  carry  out  his  resolve ;  and  to  which  end  the 
reader  will  please  accompany  us  to  a  small  cell  in  Graspum's 
pen,  about  fourteen  by  sixteen  feet,  and  seven  in  height — 
in  the  centre  of  which  is  chained  to  a  ring  that  man,  once 
so  manly  of  figure,  whose  features  are  now  worn  down  by 
sorrow  or  distorted  by  torture,  —  as  three  policemen  enter  to 
carry  out  the  order  of  shipment.  The  heavy  chain  aud 
shackle  with  which  his  left  foot  is  secured  yield  to  him  a 
circuit  of  some  four  feet.  As  the  officials  advance  his  face 
brightens  up  with  animation ;  his  spirit  resumes  its  fiery 
action,  and  with  a  flashing  knife,  no  one  knows  by  whom 
provided,  he  bids  them  advance  no  farther. 


HOW  SLAVEHOLDERS  FJEAK  EACH  OTHER.  501 

"  You.  must  go  to  the  whipping-post,  my  good  fellow !  I 
know  it's  kind  of  hard  ;  but  obey  orders  we  must.  Ye  see, 
I've  gin  ye  good  advice,  time  and  agin;  but  ye  won't  take 
it,  and  so  ye  must  abide  the  consequences,"  says  one  of  the 
officials,  who  advances  before  the  others,  and  addresses  him 
self  to  the  chained  man. 

"  I'll  go  to  a  whipping-post  no  more !"  exclaims  Nicholas, 
his  angry  spirit  flashing  in  his  face,  as  in  an  attitude  of  de 
fence  he  presses  his  right  hand  into  his  bosom,  and  frowns 
defiantly  upon  the  intruders. 

"  My  name  is  Monssl,  an  officer !  Not  a  word  of  dis 
obedience,"  returns  the  officer,  in  a  peremptory  voice. 

Another  suggests  that  he  had  better  be  throated  at  once. 
But  the  chained  victim  of  democracy's  rule  warns  them 
against  advancing  another  step.  "  Either  must  die  if  rou 
advance !  I  have  counselled  death,  and  will  lay  my  pros 
trate  body  on  the  cold  floor  rather  than  be  taken  from 
this  cell  to  the  whipping-post.  It  is  far  better  to  die  de 
fending  my  right,  than  to  yield  my  life  under  the  lash  !  I 
appeal  to  you,  officers  of  the  state,  protectors  of  the  peace, 
men  who  love  their  right  as  life's  boon  !"  The  men  hesitate, 
whisper  among  themselves,  seem  at  a  loss  as  to  what  course 
to  pursue.  "  You  are  setting  the  laws  of  the  state  at  de 
fiance,  my  good  fellow!"  rejoins  Monsel. 

"  I  care  not  for  the  law  of  the  stated  Its  laws  for  me 
are  founded  in  wrong,  exercised  with  injustice  !"  Turning 
towards  the  door,  Mr.  Monsel  despatches  his  fellow- officers 
for  a  reinforcement.  That  there  will  be  a  desperate 
struggle  he  has  no  doubt.  The  man's  gestures  show  him 
fully  armed ;  and  he  is  stark  mad.  During  the  interim, 
Mr.  Monsel  will  hold  a  parley  with  the  boy.  He  finds, 
however,  that  a  few  smooth  words  will  not  subdue  him. 
One  of  the  officials  has  a  rope  in  his  hand,  with  which  he 
would  make  a  lasso,  and,  throwing  it  over  his  head,  secure 
him  an  easy  captive.  Mr.  Monsel  will  not  hear  of  such  a 
cowardly  process.  He  is  a  wiry  man,  with  stunted  fea 
tures,  and  has  become  enured  to  the  perils  of  negro 
catching.  Hand  to  hand  he  has  had  many  an  encounter  with 
the  brutes,  and  always  came  off  victor  ;  never  did  he  fail  to 
serve  the  interests  of  the  state,  nor  to  protect  the  property 
of  his  client.  With  a  sort  of  bravado  he  makes  another  ad 
vance.  The  city  esteems  him  for  the  valuable  services 


502        HOW  SLAVEHOLDERS  FEAR  EACH  OTHER. 

he  has  rendered  its  safety ;  why  should  he  shrink  in  thia 
emergency  ? 

*  The  chained  man,  drawing  his  shining  steel  from  his 
bosom,  says,   "  You  take  me  not  from  here,  alive."     Mr. 
Monsel's  face  becomes  pale,  while  .Nicholas's  flashes  angry 
scowls  ;  an  irresistible  nervousness  seizes  him, — for  a  moment 
he  hesitates,  turns  half  round  to  see  if  his  companions  stand 
firm.     They  are  close  behind,  ready  for   the   spring,  like 
sharp-eyed   catamounts  ;    while   around   the  door  anxious 
visitors  crowd  their  curious  faces.     The  officers  second  in 
command  file  off  to  the  right  and  left,  draw  their  revolvers, 
and  present  them  in  the  attitude  of  firing.   "  Use  that  knife, 
and  you  fall !"  exclaims  one,  with  a  fearful  imprecation.  At 
the  next  moment  he  fires,  as  Monsel  rushes  upon  the  chained 
man,  followed  by  half  a  dozen  officials.    An  agonising  shriek 
is  heard,  and  Monsel,  in  guttural  accents,  mutters,  "  I'am  a 
murdered  man — he  has  murdered  me  !     Oh,  my  God, — he 
has  murdered  me !"     Nicholas  has  plunged  the  knife  into 
the  fleshy  part  of  Monsel's  right  arm  ;  and  while  the  bloody 
weapon,  wrested  from  his  hand,  lies  on  the  floor,  an  official 
drags  the  wounded  man  from  his  grasp.   As  some  rise,  others 
full  upon  him   like    infuriated    animals,  and   but    for   the 
timely  presence    of    Grabguy    and    Graspum  would    have 
despatched    him   like  a  bullock  chained  to  a  stake.     The 
presence  of  these  important  personages  produces  a  cessation 
of  hostilities  ;  but  the  victim,  disarmed,  lies  prostrate  on  the 
ground,  a   writhing   and  distorted   body,  tortured  beyond 
his  strength  of   endurance.     A  circle  where   the  struggle 
ensued   is  wet  with  blood,  in   which  Nicholas  bathes   his 
poor  writhing  body  until  it  becomes  one  crimson  mass. 

All  attention  is  now  directed  to  the  wounded  man,  who, 
it  is  found,  although  he  has  bled  freely  of  good  red  blood, 
is  neither  fatally  nor  seriously  wounded.  It  is  merely  a 
flesh  wound  in  the  arm,  such  as  young  gentlemen  of  the 
south  frequently  inflict  upon  each  other  for  the  purpose  oi 
sustaining  their  character  for  bravery.  Butthe  oppressed  slave 
has  raised  his  hand  against  a  white  man, — he  must  pay  the 
penalty  with  his  life  ;  he  no  longer  can  live  to  keep  peaceful 
citizens  in  fear  and  trembling.  Prostrate  on  the  floor,  the 

*  Our  southern  readers,  in  a  certain  state,  will  readily  recognise  the 
•cone  we  here  describe. 


HOW  SLAVEHOLDERS  FEAR  EACH  OTHER.        503 

victors  gather  round  him  again,  as  Graspum  stoops  down 
and  unlocks  the  shackle  from  his  leg.  "  It's  the  Ingin,  you 
see :  the  very  devil  wouldn't  subdue  it,  and  when  once  its 
revenge  breaks  out  you  might  just  as  well  try  to  govern 
a  sweeping  tornado,"  Graspum  remarks,  coolly,  as  he  calls 
a  negro  attendant,  and  orders  the  body  to  be  drawn  from  out 
the  puddle  of  disfiguring  gore.  Languidly  that  poor  bosom 
heaves,  his  eyes  half  close,  and  his  motionless  lips  pale  as 
death. 

"  Had  I  know'd  it  when  I  bargained  for  him,  he  would 
never  have  pested  me  in  this  way,  never !  But  he  looked 
so  likely,  and  had  such  a  quick  insight  of  things, — Ingin's 
Ingin,  though!"  says  Grabguy. 

"  The  very  look  might  have  told  you  that,  my  dear  fellow ; 
I  sold  him  to  you  with  your  eyes  open,  and,  of  course,  ex 
pected  you  to  be  the  judge,"  interrupts  Graspum, 
his  countenance  assuming  great  commercial  seriousness. 

Mr.  Grabguy  politely  says,  he  meant  no  insinuations. 
"  Come,  Nicholas !  I  told  you  this  would  be  the  end 
on't,"  lie  continues,  stooping  down  and  taking  him  by  the 
shoulders,  with  an  air  of  commiseration. 

The  bruised  body,  as  if  suddenly  inspired  with  new  life, 
raises  itself  half  up,  and  with  eyes  opening,  gazes  vacantly  at 
those  around,  at  its  own  hands  besmeared  with  gore ;  then, 
with  a  curl  of  contenr.pt  on  his  lip,  at  the  shackle  just  re 
leased  from  his  limb — "Ah,  well,  it's  ended  here ;  this  is 
the  last  of  me,  no  doubt,"  he  murmurs,  and  makes  another 
attempt  to  rise. 

"  Don't  move  from  where  you  are !"  commands  an  official, 
setting  his  hand  firmly  against  his  right  shoulder,  and 
pressing  him  back.  He  has  got  the  infective  crimson  on 
his  hands,  chafes  them  one  against  the  other,  perpendicularly, 
as  Nicholas  looks  at  him  doubtingly.  "  It's  all  over — I'll 
not  harm  you ;  take  me  to  a  slaughter-house  if  you 
will, — I  care  not,"  he  says,  still  keeping  his  eye  ©n  the 
official. 

Grabguy,  somewhat  moved  at  the  sight,  would  confirm 
his  harmlessness.  "  You'll  give  up  now,  won't  you  ?"  ho 
enquires,  and  before  Nicholas  has  time  to  answer,  turns  to 
the  official,  saying,  "Yes,  I  know'd  he  would  !" 

The  official  bows  his  head  significantly,  but  begs  to 
inform  Mr.  Grabguy,  that  the  negro,  having  violated  the 


504        HOW  SLAVEHOLDERS  FEAR  EACH  OTHER. 

most  sacred  law  of  the  state,  is  no  longer  under  his  care. 
He  is  a  prisoner,  and  must,  as  the  law  directs,  answer  for 
the  heinous  crime  just  committed.  Mr.  Grrabguy,  if  he 
please,  may  forward  his  demand  to  the  state  department, 
and  by  yielding  all  claim  to  his  criminal  property,  receive  its 
award — two  hundred  round  dollars,  or  thereabouts. 

"  Stand  back,  gentlemen — stand  back,  I  say  !"  commands 
the  officer,  as  the  crowd  from  the  outside  come  pressing  in, 
the  news  of  the  struggle  having  circulated  through  the  city 
with  lightning  speed.  Eumour,  ever  ready  to  spread  its 
fears  in  a  slave  state,  reported  an  insurrection,  and 
many  were  they  who  armed  themselves  to  the  very 
teeth. 

The  officer,  in  answer  to  a  question  why  he  does  not 
take  the  man  away,  says  he  has  sent  for  means  to  secure 
him.  He  had  scarcely  given  out  the  acceptable  information, 
when  an  official,  followed  by  a  negro  man,  bearing  cords 
over  his  right  arm,  makes  his  appearance.  The  oppressed 
man  seems  subdued,  and  as  they  make  the  first  knot  with 
the  cord  they  wind  about  his  neck,  he  says,  sarcastically, 
"  'Twouldn't  be  much  to  hang  a  slave!  Now  round  my 
hands.  Now,  with,  a  half  hitch,  take  my  legs !"  thus 
mocking,  as  it  were,  while  they  twist  the  cords  about  his  yield 
ing  limbs.  Now  they  draw  his  head  to  his  knees,  and  his 
hands  to  his  feet,  forming  a  curve  of  his  disabled  body. 
"  How  I  bend  to  your  strong  ropes,  your  strong  laws,  and 
your  still  stronger  wills  !  You  make  good  slip-nooses,  and 
better  bows  of  human  bodies,"  he  says,  mildly,  shaking  his 
head  contemptuously.  The  official,  with  a  brutal  kick, 
reminds  him  that  there  will  be  no  joking  when  he  swings 
by  the  neck,  which  he  certainly  will,  to  the  great  delight  of 
many. 

"  1  welcome  the  reality. — by  heaven  I  do,  for  only  in 
heaven  is  there  justice  for  me  !"  With  these  words  failing 
from  his  lips,  four  negro  men  seize  the  body,  bear  it  to  the 
door  :  an  excited  crowd  having  assembled,  place  it  upon  a 
common  dray,  amid  shouts  and  furious  imprecations  of 

"  D him,  kill  him  at  once  !"   Soon  the  dray  rolls  speedily 

away  for  the  county  prison,  followed  by  the  crowd,  who 
utter  a  medley  of  yells  and  groans,  as  it  disappears 
within  the  great  gates,  bearing  its  captive  to  a  cell  of 
torture. 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 

SOUTHERN    ADMINISTRATION    OF  JUSTICE. 

IT  is  just  a  week  since  Nicholas  committed  the  heinous 
offence  of  wounding  officer  Monsel  in  the  arm.  That 
distinguished  personage,  having  been  well  cared  for,  is — to 
use  a  common  phrase— about  again,  as  fresh  as  ever.  With 
Nicholas  the  case  is  very  different.  His  bruised  and 
lacerated  body,  confined  in  an  unhealthy  cell,  has  received 
little  care.  Suspicion  of  treachery  has  been  raised  against 
him ;  his  name  has  become  a  terror  throughout  the  city ; 
and  all  his  bad  qualities  have  been  magnified  five-fold, 
while  not  a  person  can  be  found  to  say  a  word  in  praise  of 
his1  good.  That  he  always  had  some  secret  villainy  in  view 
no  one  for  a  moment  doubts  ;  that  he  intended  to  raise  an 
insurrection  among  the  blacks  every  one  is  quite  sure ;  and 
that  confession  of  all  his  forelaid  evil  designs  may  be 
extorted  from  him,  the  cruellest  means  have  been  re- 
sorted  to. 

The  day  upon  which  the  trial  is  to  take  place  haa 
arrived.  On  the  south  side  of  Broad  Street  there  stands  a 
small  wooden  building,  the  boarding  discoloured  and  decayed, 
looking  as  if  it  had  been  accidentally  dropped  between  the 
walks  of  two  brick  buildings  standing  at  its  sides.  In 
addition,  it  has  the  appearance  of  one  side  having  been  set 
at  a  higher  elevation  than  the  other  for  some  purpose  of 
convenience  known  only  to  its  occupants.  About  fifteen 
feet  high,  its  front  possesses  a  plain  door,  painted  green, 
two  small  windows  much  covered  with  dust,  and  a  round 
port-hole  over  the  door.  A  sheet  of  tin,  tacked  above  the 
door,  contains,  in  broad  yellow  letters,  the  significant  names 
of  "  Eetter  and  Eelsh,  Attorneys  at  Law."  Again,  on  a 
board  about  the  size  of  a  shingle,  hanging  from  a  nail  at  tho 
right  side  of  the  door,  is  "  Jubez  Fetter,  Magistrate"  By 
these  umnistakeable  signs  we  feel  assured  of  its  being  the 
department  where  the  legal  firm  of  Fetter  and  Felsh  do 
their  customers — that  is,  where  they  dispose  of  an  immense 


606  SOUTHERN  ADMINISTRATION  OF  JUSTICE. 

amount  of  legal  filth  for  which  the  state  pays  very  accept 
able  fees.  Squire  Fetter,  as  he  is  usually  called,  is  extremely 
tall  and  well-formed,  and,  though  straight  of  person,  very 
crooked  in  morals.  With  an  oval  and  ruddy  face,  nicely 
trimmed  whiskers,  soft  blue  eyes,  tolerably  good  teeth,  he  is 
considered  rather  a  handsome  man.  But  (to  use  a  vulgar 
phrase)  he  is  death  on  night  orgies  and  nigger  trials.  He 
may  be  seen  any  day  of  the  week,  about  twelve  o'clock, 
standing  his  long  figure  in  the  door  of  his  legal  domicile, 
his  hat  touching  the  sill,  looking  up  and  then  down  the 
street,  as  if  waiting  the  arrival  of  a  victim  upon  whom  to 
pronounce  one  of  his  awful  judgments.  Felsh  is  a  different 
species  of  person,  being  a  short,  stunted  man,  with  a  flat, 
inexpressive  face.  He  has  very  much  the  appearance  of  a 
man  who  had  been  clumsily  thrown  together  for  any  pur 
pose  future  circumstances  might  require.  Between  these 
worthies  and  one  Hanz  Von  Vickeinsteighner  there  has 
long  existed  a  business  connection,  which  is  now  being 
transferred  into  a  fraternity  of  good  fellowship.  Hanz 
Yon  Vickeinsteighner  keeps  a  small  grocery,  a  few  doors 
below :  that  is,  Von,  in  a  place  scarcely  large  enough  to 
turn  his  fat  sides  without  coming  in  contact  with  the 
counter,  sells  onions,  lager-beer,  and  whiskey ;  the  last- 
named  article  is  sure  to  be  very  bad,  inasmuch  as  bis 
customers  are  principally  negroes.  Von  is  considered  a 
very  clever  fellow,  never  a  very  bad  citizen,  and  always  on 
terms  of  politeness  with  a  great  many  squires,  and  other 
members  of  the  legal  profession.  A  perfect  picture  of  the 
good-natured  Dutchman  is  Von,  as  seen  standing  his  square 
sides  in  his  doorway,  stripped  to  his  sleeves,  his  red  cap  tipped 
aside,  a  crooked  grin  on  his  broad  fat  face,  and  his  hands 
thrust  beneath  a  white  apron  into  his  nether  pockets. 
Von  has  a  great  relish  for  squires  and  police  officers,  esteems 
them  the  salt  of  all  good,  nor  ever  charges  them  a  cent  for 
his  best-brewed  lager-beer.  There  is,  however,  a  small 
matter  of  business  in  the  way,  which  Von,  being  rather  a 
sharp  logician,  thinks  it  quite  as  well  to  reconcile  with  beer. 
The  picture  is  complete,  when  of  a  morning,  some  exciting 
negro  case  being  about  to  be  brought  forward,  Fetter  and 
Von  may  be  seen,  as  before  described,  standing  importantly 
easy  in  their  respective  doors ;  while  Felsh  paces  up  and 
down  the  side-walk,  seemingly  in  deep  study.  On  these 


SOUTHERN  ADMINISTRATION  OF  JUSTICE.  507 

occasions  it  is  generally  said  Von  makes  the  criminal 
"niggers,"  Felsh  orders  them  caught  and  brought  before 
Fetter,  and  Fetter  passes  awful  judgment  upon  them. 
Now  and  then,  Felsh  will  prosecute  on  behalf  of  the  state, 
for  which  that  generous  embodiment  of  bad  law  is  debtor 
the  fees. 

The  city  clock  has  struck  twelve ;  Fetter  stands  in  his 
doorway,  his  countenance  wearing  an  air  of  great  serious 
ness.  Felsh  saunters  at  the  outside,  now  and  then  making 
some  legal  remark  on  a  point  of  the  negro  statutes,  and  at 
every  turn  casting  his  bleared  eye  up  the  street.  Presently, 
Nicholas  is  seen,  his  hands  pinioned,  and  a  heavy  chain 
about  his  neck,  approaching  between  two  officials.  A  crowd 
follows ;  among  it  are  several  patriotic  persons  who 
evince  an  inclination  to  wrest  him  from  the  officials,  that 
they  may,  according  to  Judge  Lynch's  much-used  privi 
leges,  wreak  their  vengeance  in  a  summary  manner.  "  The 
boy  Nicholas  is  to  be  tried  to-day  !"  has  rung  through  the 
city :  curious  lookers-on  begin  to  assemble  round  the 
squire's  office,  and  Hanz  Von  Vickeiusteighner  is  in  great 
good  humour  at  the  prospect  of  a  profitable  day  at  his 
counter. 

"Bring  the  criminal  in!"  says  Squire  Fetter,  turning 
into  his  office  as  Nicholas  is  led  in, — still  bearing  the 
marks  of  rough  usage.  Hows  of  board  seats  stretch  across 
the  little  nook,  which  is  about  sixteen  feet  wide  by  twenty 
long,  the  floor  seeming  on  the  verge  of  giving  way  under 
its  professional  burden.  The  plaster  hangs  in  broken 
flakes  from  the  walls,  which  are  exceedingly  dingy,  and 
decorated  with  festoons  of  melancholy  cobwebs.  At  the 
farther  end  is  an  antique  book-case  of  pine  slats,  on  which 
are  promiscuously  thrown  sundry  venerable-looking  works  on 
law,  papers,  writs,  specimens  of  minerals,  branches  of 
coral,  aligators'  teeth,  several  ship's  blocks,  and  a  bit  of 
damaged  fishing-tackle.  This  is  Felsh's  repository  of 
antique  collections  ;  what  many  of  them  have  to  do  with  his 
rough  pursuit  of  the  learned  profession  we  leave  to  the 
reader's  discrimination.  It  has  been  intimated  by  several 
waggishly-inclined  gentlemen,  that  a  valuable  record  of  all 
the  disobedient  "niggers"  Fetter  had  condemned  to  be 
hung  might  be  found  among  this  confused  collection  of 
antiquities.  A  deal  table,  covered  with  a  varnished  cloth, 
23 


508  SOUTHERN  ADMINISTRATION  OF  JUSTICE. 


standing  on  the  right  side  of  the  room,  and  beside  which  a 
ponderous  arm-chair  13  raised  a  few  inches,  forms  Fetter's 
tribune.  Hanging  from  the  wall,  close  behind  this,  is  a 
powder-horn  and  flask,  several  old  swords,  a  military  hat 
somewhat  broken,  and  sundry  other  indescribable  things, 
enough  to  make  one's  head  ache  to  contemplate. 

The  office  is  become  crowded  to  excess,  the  prisoner  (his 
hands  unpinioned,  but  the  heavy  chain  still  about  his  neck !) 
is  placed  in  a  wooden  box  fronting  the  squire's  table,  as  a 
constable  is  ordered  to  close  the  court.  It  is  quite  evident 
that  Fetter  has  been  taking  a  little  too  much  on  the  previous 
night;  but,  being  a  "  first-rate  drinker,"  his  friends  find  an 
apology  in  the  arduousness  of  his  legal  duties.  In  answer 
to  a  question  from  Felsh,  who  has  been  looking  at  the 
prisoner  somewhat  compassionately,  the  serving  constable 
says  two  of  the  jury  of  "  freeholders"  he  has  summoned  have 
not  yet  made  their  appearance.  Fetter,  who  was  about  to 
take  his  seat  in  the  great  chair,  and  open  court,  politely 
draws  forth  his  watch,  and  after  addressing  a  few  words  to 
the  persons  present,  on  the  necessity  of  keeping  order  in  a 
court  with  such  high  functions,  whispers  a  few  words  in 
Felsh' s  ear,  holding  his  hand  to  his  mouth  the  while. 

"Maintain  order  in  court!"  says  Fetter,  nodding  his 
head  to  the  official ;  "  we  will  return  in  five  minutes."  Soon 
they  are  seen  passing  into  Von's  crooked  establishment, 
where,  joined  by  a  number  of  very  fashionable  friends,  they 
"take"  of  the  "hardware"  he  keeps  in  a  sly  place  under 
the  counter,  in  a  special  bottle  for  his  special  customers. 
Having  taken  several  "special  glasses,  Fetter  is  much 
annoyed  at  sundry  remarks  made  by  his  friends,  who  press 
round  him,  seeming  anxious  to  instruct  him  on  intricate 
points  of  the  "  nigger  statutes."  One  hopes  he  will 
not  let  the  nigger  oft'  without  a  jolly  good  hanging  ;  another 
will  bet  his  life  Felsh  takes  care  of  that  small  item,  for 
then  his  claim  on  the  state  treasury  will  be  doubled.  Anduow, 
Fetter  finding  that  Felsh,  having  imbibed  rather  freely  of 
the  liquid,  hath  somewhat  diminished  his  brilliant  faculties, 
will  take  him  by  the  arm  and  return  into  court.  With  all 
the  innate  dignity  of  great  jurists  they  enter  their  sanctum  of 
iustice,  as  the  usher  exclaims,  "  Court !  Court ! — hats  off  and 
cigars  out !" 


SOUTHERN  ADMINISTRATION  OP  JUSTICE.  509 

"  Jury  are  present  ?"  enquires  Fetter,  with  great  gravity, 
bowing  to  one  side  and  then  to  the  other,  as  he  resumes  lua 
seat  on  the  tribune. 

"  Present,  yer  'oner ;"  the  officer  answers  in  a  deep,  gruff 
voice,  as  he  steps  forward  and  places  a  volume  of  the  re 
vised  statutes  before  that  high  jurist.  Fetter  moves  the 
book  to  hia  left,  where  Felsh  has  taken  his  seat.  "With 
placid  countenance  and  softest  accents,  Fetter  orders  the 
prisoner  at  the  bar  to  stand  up  while  our  constable  calls  the 
names  of  the  jurymen. 

Our  victim  of  democracy's  even-handed  justice  obeys  the 
summons,  rising  as  his  dark  eyes  flash  angrily,  and  that  hat/red 
wrong  which  lurks  in  his  bosom  seems  kindling  anew. 
"  Jarnes  M'Neilty  !  Terrance  M'Quade  !  Harry  Johanna ! 
Baldwin  Dobson !  Patrick  Henessy !  Be  dad  and  I  have 
um  all  now,  yer  'oner,"  ejaculates  the  official,  exultingly,  as 
one  by  one  the  "nigger  jurymen"  respond  to  the  call, 
and  take  their  seats  on  a  wooden  slab  at  the  right  of  his 
Honour,  squire  Fetter.  "  You  are,  I  may  be  sure,  gentle 
men,  freeholders  ?"  enquires  his  honour,  with  a  mechanical 
bow.  They  answer  simultaneously  in  the  affirmative,  and 
then,  forming  in  a  half  circle,  lay  their  hands  on  a  volume  of 
Byron,  which  Fetter  makes  do  for  a  Bible,  and  subscribe  to 
the  sacred  oath  Felsh  administers.  By  the  Giver  of  all  Good 
will  they  return  a  verdict  according  to  the  evidence  and 
the  facts.  "  Gentlemen  will  take  their  seats  (the  officer 
must  preserve  order  in  the  court !)  the  prisoner  may  also  sit 
down,"  says  Felsh,  the  words  falling  from  his  lips  with 
great  gravity,  as,  opening  the  revised  statutes,  he  rises  to 
address  the  jury. 

"  Gentlemen  of  the  Jury  !— suddenly  hesitates  for  a  mo 
ment—the  solemn  duties  which  you  are  now  called  upon  to 
perform  (at  this  moment  Terrance  M'Quade  draws  a  small 
bottle  from  his  pocket,  and  after  helping  himself  to  a  portion 
of  its  contents  passes  it  to  his  fellows,  much  to  the  surprise 
of  the  learned  Felsh,  who  hopes  such  indecorum  will  cease) 
and  they  are  duties  which  you  owe  to  the  safety  of  the  state 
as  well  as  to  the  protection  of  your  own  families,  are  much 
enhanced  by  the  superior  mental  condition  of  the  criminal 
before  you."  Here  Mr.  Felsh  calls  for  a  volume  of  Prince'a 
Digest,  from  which  he  instructs  the  jury  upon  several  im 
portant  points  of  the  law  made  and  provided  for  making  the 


510  SOUTHERN  ADMINISTRATION  OF  JUSTICE. 

striking  a  white  person  by  a  slave  or  person  of  colour  a 
capital  offence.  "  Your  honour,  too,  will  see  the  case  to 
which  I  refer — '  State  and  Prudence !'  "  The  learned  gentle 
man  extends  the  book,  that  his  august  eyes  may  have  a  near 
view. 

"  Tour  word  is  quite  sufficient,  Mr.  Felsh,"  returns 
Fetter,  his  eyes  half  closed,  as  he  waves  his  hand,  adding 
that  he  is  perfectly  posted  on  the  case  cited.  "  Page  499, 
I  think  you  said?"  he  continues,  placing  his  thumbs  in  his 
waistcoat  armlets,  with  an  air  of  indifference. 

"Yes,  your  honour,"  rejoins  Felsh,  with  a  polite  bow. 
His  honour,  ordering  a  glass  of  water  mixed  with  a  little 
brandy,  Mr.  Felsh  continues : — "  The  case,  gentlemen,  be 
fore  you,  is  that  of  the  '  State  v.  Nicholas.'  This  case, 
gentlemen,  and  the  committal  of  the  heinous  crime  for 
wiiich  he  stands  arraigned  before  you,  has  excited  no  small 
amount  of  interest  in  the  city.  It  is  one  of  those  peculiar 
cases  where  intelligence  creeps  into  the  property  in 
terest  of  our  noble  institution — the  institution  of  slavery — 
makes  the  property  restless,  disobedient  to  the  will  and  com 
mands  of  the  master,  disaffected  to  the  slave  population, 
and  dangerous  to  the  peace  and  the  progress  of  the  commu 
nity,  Now,  gentlemen  (his  honour  has  dropped  into  a 
moderate  nap — Mr.  Felsh  pauses  for  a  moment,  and  touches 
him  gently  on  the  shoulder,  as  he  suddenly  resumes  his 
wonted  attention,  much  to  the  amusement  of  those 
assembled)  you  will  be  told  by  the  witnesses  we  shall  here 
produce,  that  the  culprit  is  an  exceedingly  intelligent  and 
valuable  piece  of  property,  and  as  such  might,  even  now,  be 
made  extremely  valuable  to  his  master— Mr.  Grrabguy  is  in 
court,  watching  his  interests!— who  paid  a  large  sum  for  him, 
and  was  more  than  anxious  to  place  him  at  the  head  of  his 
manufacturing  establishment,  which  office  he  was  fully 
capable  of  filling.  Now,  gentlemen — his  honour  will  please 
observe  this  point — much  as  I  may  consider  the  heavy  loss 
the  master  will  suffer  by  the  conviction  of  the  prisoner,  and 
which  will  doubtless  be  felt  severely  by  him,  I  cannot  help 
impressing  upon  you  the  necessity  of  overlooking  the  in 
dividual  loss  to  the  master,  maintaining  the  law,  and  pre 
serving  the  peace  of  the  community  and  stability  of  our 
noble  institution.  That  the  state  will  only  allow  the  master 
two  hundred  dollars  for  his  valuable  slave  you  have  nothing 


SOUTHERN  ADMINISTRATION  OF  JUSTICE.  511 

to  do  with — you  must  sink  that  from  your  minds,  listen  to 
the  testimony,  and  form  your  verdict  in  accordance  with 
that  and  the  law.  That  he  is  a  dangerous  slave,  has  long 
maintained  a  disobedience  towards  his  owner,  set  the 
authorities  at  defiance,  attempted  to  create  an  insurrection, 
and  made  a  dangerous  assault  on  a  white  man — which 
constitutes  a  capital  offence— we  shall  now  call  witnesses  to 
prove.  The  learned  gentleman  having  finished  his  opening 
for  the  prosecution,  sits  down.  After  a  moment's  pause, 
he  orders  an  attendant  to  bring  something  "  to  take  " — 
"  Similar  to  the  squire's!"  he  ejaculates,  hoarsely. 

"  Gentlemen  !"  says  his  honour,  as  if  seized  with  the  re 
collection  of  some  important  appointment,  the  time  for 
•which  was  close  at  hand,  drawing  out  his  watch,  "  Call 
witnesses  as  fast  as  possible  !  The  evidence  in  this  case,  I 
reckon,  is  so  direct  and  positive,  that  the  case  can  be  very 
summarily  despatched." 

"I  think  so,  too!  yer  'oner,"  interrupts  Terrance 
M'Quade,  starting  from  his  seat  among  the  five  jurors. 
Terrance  has  had  what  in  vulgar  parlance  is  termed  a 
"tough  time"  with  several  of  his  own  stubborn  negroes; 
and  having  already  heard  a  deal  about  this  very  bad  cast;,  is 
prepared  to  proclaim  him  fit  only  to  be  hanged.  His  honour 
reminds  Terrance  that  such  remarks  from  a  j  uror  are  neither 
strictly  legal  nor  in  place. 

The  first  witness  called  is  Toby,  a  slave  of  Terrance 
M'Quade,  who  has  worked  in  the  same  shop  with  Nicholas. 
Toby  heard  him  say  he  got  his  larnin'  when  he  was  young, — 
that  his  heart  burned  for  his  freedom — that  he  knew  he  was 
no  slave  by  right — that  some  day  would  see  him  a  great 
man ;  that  if  all  those  poor  wretches  now  in  slavery  knew 
as  much  as  he  did,  they  would  rise  up,  have  their  liberties, 
and  proclaim  justice  without  appealing  to  heaven  for 

it! " 

"I  said  all  that,  and  more!"  interrupted  the  criminal 
bondman,  rising  quickly  to  his  feet,  and  surveying  those 
around  him  with  a  frown  of  contempt. 

"  Silence  !  sit  down  !"  resounds  from  the  officer 
He  will  sit  down,  but  they  cannot  quench  the  fires  of  his 
soul ;  they  may  deny  him  the  commonest  right  of  his  man 
hood,  but  they  cannot  take  from  him  the  knowledge  that 


512  SOUTHERN  ADMINISTRATION  OF  JUSTICE. 

God  gave  him  those  rights  ;  they  may  mock  with  derision  the 
firm  mien  with  which  he  disputes  the  power  of  his  oppressors, 
and  their  unjust  laws,  but  they  cannot  make  him  less  than  a  man 
\n  his  own  feelings ! 

His  honour,  squire  Fetter,  reminds  him  that  it  were  bettei* 
he  said  nothing,  sit  down, —  or  be  punished  instanter. 
Turning  to  Felsh,  who  is  sipping  his  quencher,  he  en 
quires  what  thai;  gentleman  means  to  prove  by  the  witness 
Toby  ? 

"  His  intention  to  raise  an  insurrection,  yer  honour !" 
Felsh,  setting  his  glass  aside,  quickly  responds,  wiping  hia 
lips  as  he  adds,  "It  is  essentially  necessary,  yer  honour!" 

His  honour,  leaning  forward,  places  the  fore-finger  of  his 
right  hand  to  his  lip,  and  making  a  very  learned  gesture, 
says,  "  Toby  has  said  enough  to  establish  that  point." 

The  next  witness  is  Mr.  Brien  Calligan,  a  criminal  in 
the  prison,  who  for  his  good  behaviour  has  been  promoted 
to  the  honourable  post  of  under-warden.  Mr.  Brien 
Calligan  testifies  that  the  prisoner,  while  in  prison,  con 
fined  in  a  cell  under  his  supervision,  admitted  that  he 
intended  to  kill  Mr.  Monsel  when  he  inflicted  the  wound. 
He  must  qualify  this  statement,  however,  by  saying  that 
the  prisoner  added  he  was  altogether  beside  himself  with 
rage. 

Grabguy,  who  has  been  intently  watching  the  pro 
ceedings,  suddenly  springs  to  his  feet.  He  would  like  to 
know  if  that  admission  was  not  extorted  from  the  culprit  by 
cruelty  ! 

Mr.  Brien  Calligan  pauses  a  moment,  looks  innocently 
at  the  court,  as  one  of  the  jurors  suggests  that  quite  enough 
evidence  has  already  been  put  in  to  warrant  a  conviction. 
It's  a  pity  to  hang  such  valuable  property ;  but,  being  ben!: 
on  disturbing  the  peace  of  the  community,  what  else  can  be 
done  ? 

His  honour  listens  with  great  concern  to  the  juror's  remarks, 
but  suggests  that  Mr.  Grabguy  had  better  not  interrupt  the 
court  with  questions.  That  he  has  an  indirect  interest  in  the 
issue  of  the  suit,  not  a  doubt  exists,  but  if  he  be  not  satis 
fied  with  the  witness's  statement,  he  has  his  remedy  in  the 
court  of  appeals,  where,  upon  the  ground  of  testimony  having 
been  elicited  by  coercion  or  cruelty,  a  new  trial  will  probably 
be  granted. 


SOUTHERN  ADMINISTRATION  OF  JUSTICE.  513 

Mr.  Grabguy  would  merely  suggest  to  his  honour  that 
although  sentencing  a  negro  to  be  hung  may  be  a  matter  of 
small  consequence  to  him,  yet  his  position  in  society  gives 
hun  a  right  to  be  heard  with  proper  respect.  Aware  that 
he  does  not  move  in  that  exclusively  aristocratic  sphere  of 
society  awarded  to  lawyers  in  general,  he  is  no  less 
entitled  to  respect,  and  being  a  man  of  honour,  and  an 
alderman  as  well,  he  shall  always  insist  on  that  re 
spect. 

"  Order,  order !"  demand  a  dozen  voices.  His  honour's  face 
flashing  with  indignation,  he  seizes  the  statutes,  and  rising  to 
his  feet,  is  about  to  throw  them  with  unerring  aim  at  the 
unhandsome  head  of  the  municipal  functionary.  A  commo 
tion  here  ensues.  Felsh  is  esteemed  not  a  bad  fighting  man  ; 
and  rising  almost  simultaneously,  liis  face  like  a  full  moon 
peeping  through  a  rain  cloud,  attempts  to  pacify  his  colleague, 
Fetter.  The  court  is  foaming  with  excitement ;  Mr.  Felsh 
is  excited,  the  jury  are  excited  to  take  a  little  more  drink, 
the  constables  are  excited,  the  audience  are  excited  to 
amusement ;  Messrs.  Fetter  and  Felsh's  court  rocks  with 
excitement :  the  only  unexcited  person  present  is  the 
criminal,  who  looks  calmly  on,  as  if  contemplating  with 
horror  the  debased  condition  of  those  in  whose  hands  an 
unjust  law  has  placed  his  life. 

As  the  uproar  and  confusion  die  away,  and  the  court 
resumes  its  dignity,  Mr.  Grabguy,  again  asserting  his  posi 
tion  of  a  gentleman,  says  he  is  not  ashamed  to  declare  his 
conviction  to  be,  that  his  honour  is  not  in  a  fit  state  to  try  a 
"  nigger"  of  his  :  in  fact,  the  truth  must  be  told,  he  would 
not  have  him  sit  in  judgment  upon  his  spaniel. 

At  this  most  unwarranted  declaration  Fetter  rises  from 
his  judicial  chair,  his  feelings  burning  with  rage,  and  bounds 
over  the  table  at  Grabguy,  prostrating  his  brother  Felsh, 
tables,  benches,  chairs,  and  everything  else  in  his  way, — 
making  the  confusion  complete.  Several  gentlemen  inter 
pose  between  Fetter ;  but  before  he  can  reach  Grabguy, 
who  is  no  small  man  in  physical  strength — which  he  has 
developed  by  fighting  his  way  "  through  many  a  crowd"  on 
election  days — that  municipal  dignitary  is  ejected,  smis 
ceremonie,  into  the  street. 

"  Justice  to  me !  My  honest  rights,  for  which  I  laboured 
when  he  gave  rae  no  bread,  would  have  saved  him  his  com- 

LL 


514  SOUTHERN  ADMINISTRATION  OP  JUSTICE. 

punction  of  conscience:  1  wanted  nothing  more,"  says 
Nicholas,  raising  the  side  of  his  coarse  jacket,  and  wiping 
the  sweat  from  his  brow. 

"  Silence  there !"  demands  an  official,  pointing  his  tipstaff, 
and  punching  him  on  the  shoulder. 

Grabguy  goes  to  his  home,  considering  and  reconsidering 
his  own  course.  His  heart  repeats  the  admonition,  "  Thou 
art  the  wrong-doer.  Grabguy  !"  It  haunts  his  very  soul ;  it 
lays  bare  the  source's  from  whence  the  slave's  troubles  flow  ; 
places  the  seal  of  aggression  on  the  state.  It  is  a  question 
with  him,  whether  the-  state,  through  its  laws,  or  Messrs. 
Tetter  and  Pelsh,  through  the  justice  meted  out  at  their 
court,  play  the  baser  part. 

A  crowd  of  anxious  persons  have  gathered  about  the  door, 
making  the  very  air  resound  with  their  shouts  of  derision. 
Hans  Von  Vickeinsteighner,  his  fat  good-natured  face  shining 
like  a  pumpkin  on  a  puncheon,  and  his  red  cap  dangling  above 
the  motley  faces  of  the  crowd,  moves  glibly  about,  and  says  they 
are  having  a  right  jolly  good  time  at  the  law  business  within. 

!Fetter,  again  taking  his  seat,  apologises  to  the  jury,  to 
the  persons  present,  and  to  his  learned  brother,  Felsh.  He 
is  very  sorry  for  this  ebullition  of  passion ;  but  they  may  be 
assured  it  was  called  forth  by  the  gross  insult  offered  to  all 
present.  "  Continue  the  witnesses  as  fast  as  possible,"  he 
concludes,  with  a  methodical  bow. 

Mr.  Monsel  steps  forward  :  he  relates  the  fierce  attempt 
made  upon  his  life  ;  has  no  doubt  the  prisoner  meant  to  kill 
him,  and  raise  an  insurrection.  "It  is  quite  enough  ;  Mr. 
Monsel  may  stand  down,"  interposes  i^elsh,  with  an  air  of 
dignity. 

Paul  Vampton,  an  intelligent  negro,  next  bears  testimony. 
"  The  criminal  at  the  bar  (Paul  does  not  believe  he  has  a 
drop  of  negro  blood  in  his  veins)  more  than  once  told  him 
his  wife  and  children  were  sold  from  him,  his  rights  stripped 
from  him,  the  hopes  of  gaining  his  freedom  for  ever  gone. 
Having  nothing  to  live  for,  he  coveted  death,  because  it  was 
more  honourable  to  die  in  defence  of  justice,  than  live  the 
crawling  slave  of  a  tyrant's  rule." 

"  I  feel  constrained  to  stop  the  case,  gentlemen  of  the  jury," 
interposes  his  honour,  rising  from  his  seat.  "  The  evidence  al 
ready  adduced  is  more  than  sufficient  to  establish  the  conviction." 


SOUTHERN  ADMINISTRATION  OF  JUSTICE.  515 

A  juror  at  Terrance  M'Quado's  right,  touches  that  gentle 
man  ou  the  shoulder :  he  had  just  cooled  away  into  a  nice 
Bleep  :  "  I  think  so,  too,  yer  'oner,"  rejoins  Terrance,  in  half 
bewilderment,  starting  nervously  and  rubbing  his  eyes, 

A  few  mumbled  words  from  his  honour  serve  as  a  charge 
to  the  jury.  They  know  the  law,  and  have  the  evidence 
before  them.  "  I  see  not,  gentlemen,  how  you  can  render 
a  verdict  other  than  guilty ;  but  that,  let  me  hero  say, 
I  shall  leave  to  your  more  mature  deliberation."  With  these 
concluding  remarks  his  honour  sips  his  mixture,  and  sits 
down. 

Gentlemen  of  the  jury  rise  from  their  seats,  and  form 
into  a  circle ;  Mr  Felsh  coolly  turns  over  the  leaves  of  the 
statutes  ;  the  audience  mutter  to  themselves  ;  the  prisoner 
stares  vacantly  over  the  scene,  as  if  heedless  of  the  issue. 

"  Guilty  !  it's  that  we've  made  it;  and  the  divil  a  thing 
else  we  could  make  out  of  it,"  exclaims  Terrance  M'Quade, 
as  they,  after  the  mature  length  of  two  minutes'  consulta 
tion,  turn  and  face  his  honour.     They  pause  for  a  reply. 
"  Stand  up,  prisoner  !" 

"  Hats  off  during  the  sentence  !"  rejoins  a  constable. 
"  Guilty."  His  honour  rises  to  his  feet  with  ponderous 
dignity  to  pronounce  the  awful  sentence.  "  Gentlemen,  I 
must  needs  compliment  your  verdict ;  you  could  have  come 
to  no  other."  His  honour  bows  gracefully  to  the  jury, 
reminds  gentlemen  present  of  the  solemn  occasion,  and  will 
hear  what  the  prisoner  has  to  say  for  himself. 

An  angry  frown  pervades  the  prisoner's  face.  He  lias 
nothing  to  say.  Burning  tears  course  down  his  cheeks ; 
but  they  are  not  tears  of  contrition, — Oh,  no  !  he  has  no  such 
tears  to  shed.  Eiruily  and  resolutely  he  says,  "  Guilty ! 
guilty !  yes,  1  am  guilty — guilty  by  the  guilty  laws  of  a 
guilty  land.  You  are  powerful — I  am  weak  ;  you  have  might 
— I  have  right.  Mine  is  not  a  chosen  part.  Guilty  on  earth, 
my  soul  will  be  innocent  in  heaven  ;  and  before  a  just  judge 
will  my  cause  be  proclaimed,  before  a  holy  tribunal  my  ver 
dict  received,  and  by  angels  my  soul  be  enrolled  among  the 
righteous.  Tour  earthly  law  seals  my  lips ;  your  black 
•judgment — enough  to  make  heaven  frown  and  earth  tremble, 
fearing  justice — crushes  the  man ;  but  you  cannot  judge  the 
spirit.  In  fear  and  trembling  your  wrongs  will  travel 
broken  paths — give  no  man  rest.  I  am  guilty  with  you ;  I 


516  SOUTHERN  ADMINISTRATION  OF  JUSTICE. 

am  innocent  in  heaven.  He  who  judgeth  all  things  right, 
receives  the  innocent  soul  into  his  bosom  ;  and  He  will  offer 
repentance  to  him  who  takes  the  innocent  life."  He  pauses, 
as  his  eye,  with  intense  stare,  rests  upon  his  honour. 

"  You  are  through  ?"  enquires  his  honour,  raising  his 
eyebrows. 

"In  this  court  of  justice,"  firmly  replies  the  prisoner. 

"  Order  in  the  court !"  is  echoed  from  several  voices. 

"  Nicholas — Nicholas  Grabguy  !  the  offence  for  which  you 
stand  convicted  is  one  for  which  1  might,  according  to  the 
laws  of  the  land,  pronounce  a  more  awful  sentence  than  the 
one  now  resolved  upon.  But  the  advanced  and  enlightened 
spirit  of  the  age  calls  for  a  more  humane  manner  of  taking 
life  and  inflicting  punishments.  Never  before  has  it  been 
my  lot  to  pass  sentence  — although  I  have  pronounced  the 
awful  benediction  on  very  many — on  so  valuable  and  intelli 
gent  a  slave.  I  regret  your  master's  loss  as  much  as  I 
sympathise  with  your  condition  ;  and  yet  I  deplore  the 
hardened  and  defiant  spirit  you  yet  evince.  And  permit  me 
here  to  say,  that  while  you  manifest  such  an  unyielding 
spirit  there  is  no  hope  of  pardon.  Nicholas!  you  have  been 
tried  before  a  tribunal  of  the  land,  by  the  laws  of  your  state, 
and  found  guilty  by  a  tribunal  of  competent  men.  Nothing 
is  now  left  for  me  but  to  pass' sentence  upon  you  in  accord 
ance  with  the  law.  The  sentence  of  the  court  is,  that  you 
be  taken  hence  to  the  prison  from  whence  you  came,  and  on 
this  day  week,  at  twelve  o'clock,  from  thence  to  the  gallows 
erected  in  the  yard  thereof,  and  there  and  then  be  hanged  by 
the  neck  until  you  are  dead ;  and  may  the  Lord  have  mercy 
on  your  soul!" 

His  honour,  concluding  nervously,  orders  the  jury  to  be 
dismissed,  and  the  court  adjourned. 

How  burns  the  inward  hate  of  the  oppressed  culprit,  as 
mutely,  his  hands  pinioned,  and  the  heavy  chain  about  his 
neck,  he  is  led  away  to  his  prison-house,  followed  by  a  de 
riding  crowd.  "  Come  that  happy  day,  when  men  will  cease 
to  make  their  wrong  fire  my  very  blood !"  he  gays,  firmly 
marching  to  the  place  of  death. 


CHAPTER  XL VII. 

PROSPERITY  THE  RESULT  OF  JUSTICE. 

years  have  rolled  into  the  past  since  the  Rosebrook 
family — moved  by  a  sense  of  right  to  enquire  into  the  errors 
of  a  bad  system  of  labour — resolved  to  try  the  working  of  a 
new  scheme.  There  was  to  be  no  cutting,  nor  lashing,  nor 
abusing  with  overburdening  tasks.  Education  was  to  regu> 
late  the  feelings,  kindness  to  expand  the  sympathies,  and 
justice  to  bind  the  affections  and  stimulate  advancement. 
There  were  only  some  fifty  negroes  on  the  Rosebrook  plan 
tation,  but  its  fame  for  raising  great  crops  had  resounded 
far  and  wide.  Some  planters  said  it  "astonished  everything," 
considering  how  much  the  Rosebrooks  indulged  their  slaves. 
With  a  third  less  in  number  of  hands,  did  they  raise  more  and 
better  cotton  than  their  neighbours  ;  and  then  everything  was 
so  neat  and  bright  about  the  plantation,  and  everybody 
looked  so  cheerful  and  sprightly.  When  Rosebrook' s  cotton 
was  sent  into  the  market,  factors  said  it  was  characteristic 
of  his  systemised  negroes  ;  and  when  his  negroes  rolled  into 
the  city,  as  they  did  on  holidays,  all  brightened  up  with  new 
clothes,  everybody  said — There  were  Rosebrook' s  dandy,  fat, 
and  saucy  "  niggers."  And  then  the  wise  prophets,  who 
h;id  all  along  predicted  that  Rosebrook's  project  would  never 
amount  to  much,  said  it  was  all  owing  to  his  lady,  who  was 
worth  her  weight  in  gold  at  managing  negroes.  And  she 
did  conceive  the  project,  too ;  and  her  helping  hand  was  felt 
like  a  quickening  spring,  giving  new  life  to  the  physical 
being.  That  the  influence  might  not  be  lost  upon  others  of 
her  sex  in  the  same  sphere  of  life,  she  was  ever  reasoning 
upon  the  result  of  female  sympathy.  She  felt  that,  were  it 
exercised  properly,  it  could  raise  up  the  menial  slave,  awaken 
his  inert  energies,  give  him  those  moral  guides  which  elevate 
his  passive  nature,  and  regenerate  that  manhood  which  pro 
vides  for  its  own  good. 

They  had  promised  their  people  that  all  children  born  at 
and  after  a  given  date  should  be  free ;  that  all  those  over 


518  PBOSPEEITY  THE  BESTJLT  OF  JUSTICE. 

sixty  should,  be  nominally  free,  the  only  restriction  being  the 
conditions  imposed  by  the  state  law ;  that  slaves  under 
fifteen  years  of  age,  and  able  to  do  plantation  work,  should, 
during  the  ten  years  prescribed,  be  allowed  for  their  extra 
labour  at  a  given  rate,  and  expected  to  have  the  sum  of  two 
hundred  and  fifty  dollars  set  to  their  credit ;  that  all  prime 
people  should  be  required  to  work  a  given  number  of  hours, 
as  per  task,  for  master,  beyond  which  they  would  be  allotted  a 
"patch"  for  cultivation, the  products  of  which  were  entrusted 
to  Bosebrook  for  sale,  and  the  proceeds  placed  in  missus' 
savings  bank  to  their  credit.  The  people  had  all  fulfilled 
the  required  conditions  ere  the  ten  years  expired ;  and  a 
good  round  sum  for  extra  earnings  was  found  in  the  bank. 
The  llosebrooks  kept  faith  with  their  slaves ;  and  the  happy 
result  is,  that  Rosebrook,  in  addition  to  the  moral  security 
he  has  founded  for  the  good  of  his  people — and  which  secu 
rity  is  a  boon  of  protection  between  master  and  slave — has 
been  doubly  repaid  by  the  diiference  in  amount  of  product, 
the  result  of  encouragement  incited  by  his  enlightened  sys 
tem.  The  family  were  bound  in  affection  to  their  slaves ; 
and  the  compact  has  given  forth  its  peaceful  products  for  a 
good  end.  Each  slave  being  paid  for  his  or  her  labour, 
there  is  no  decline  of  energy,  no  disaffection,  no  clashing  of 
interests,  no  petulant  disobedience.  Rosebrook  finds  his 
system  the  much  better  of  the  two.  It  has  relieved  him  of 
a  deal  of  care  ;  he  gets  more  work  for  less  money ;  he  laughs 
at  his  neighbours,  who  fail  to  raise  as  much  cotton  with 
double  the  number  of  negroes  ;  and  he  knows  that  his  negroes 
love  instead  of  fear  him.  And  yet,  notwithstanding  tho 
proof  he  has  produced,  the  whole  district  of  planters  look 
upOTi  him  with  suspicion,  consider  him  rather  a  dangerous 
innovator,  and  say,  that  while  his  foolish  system  cannot  be 
other  than  precarious  to  the  welfare  of  the  state,  time  will 
prove  it  a  monster  fallacy. 

A  happy  moment  was  it  when  the  time  rolled  round,  and 
the  morning  of  the  day  upon  which  Rosebrook  would  pro 
claim  the  freedom  of  his  people  broke  serenely  forth.  The 
cabins  looked  bright  and  airy,  were  sanded  and  whitewashed, 
and,  surrounded  by  their  neatly  attired  inhabitants,  pre 
sented  a  picturesque  appearance.  It  was  to  be  a  great  gala- 
day,  and  the  bright  morning  atmosphere  seemed  propitious 
of  the  event.  Daddy  Daniel  had  got  a  new  set  of  shiny 


PBOSPEEITY  THE  RESULT  OF  JUSTICE.  519 

brass  buttons  put  on  his  long  blue  coat,  and  an  extremely 
broad  white  cravat  for  his  neck.  Daniel  was  a  sort  of  law 
giver  for  the  plantation,  and  sat  in  judgment  over  all  cases 
brought  before  him,  with  great  gravity  of  manner.  As  to 
his  judgments,  they  were  always  pronounced  with  wondrous 
solemnity,  and  in  accordance  with  what  he  conceived  to  be 
the  most  direct  process  of  administering  even-handed  justice. 
Daddy  was  neither  a  democrat  nor  an  unjust  judge.  Believing 
that  it  were  better  to  forgive  than  inflict  undue  punishments, 
hewouldrathershamethe  transgressor,  dismiss  him  with  a  firm 
admonition  to  do  better,  and  bid  him  go,  transgress  no  more  ! 
Harry  had  prepared  a  new  sermon  for  the  eventful  day ; 
and  with  it  he  was  to  make  his  happy  flock  remember  the 
duty  which  they  would  henceforth  owe  to  those  who  had  been 
their  kind  protectors,  as  well  as  the  promoters  of  that  system 
which  would  result  in  happier  days.  How  vivid  of  hap 
piness  was  that  scene  presented  in  the  plantation  church, 
where  master  and  missus,  surrounded  by  their  faithful  old 
slaves,  who,  with  a  patriarchal  attachment,  seemed  to  view 
them  with  reverence,  sat  listening  to  the  fervent  discourse 
of  that  once  wretched  slave,  now,  by  kindness,  made  a  man  ! 
Deep,  soul-stirring,  and  affecting  to  tears,  were  the  words  of 
prayer  with  which  that  devout  negro  invoked  the  all-pro 
tecting  hand  of  Almighty  God,  that  he  would  guide  master 
and  slave  through  the  troubles  of  this  earthly  stage,  and 
receive  them  into  his  bosom.  How  in  contrast  with  that 
waging  of  passion,  and  every  element  of  evil  that  has  its 
source  in  injustice,  so  rife  of  plantation  life,  was  the  picture 
here  presented  ! 

The  service  ended,  Kosebrook  addresses  a  few  remarks  to 
bis  people ;  after  which  they  gather  around  him  and  pour 
forth  their  gratitude  in  genial  sentiments.  Old  and  young 
have  a  "  Heaven  save  master !"  for  Rosebrook,  and  a  "  God 
bless  missus !"  for  his  noble-hearted  lady,  to  whom  they 
cling,  shaking  her  hand  with  warmest  affection. 

How  enviable  to  her  sex  is  the  position  of  that  woman 
who  labours  for  the  fallen,  and  whose  heart  yields  its  kin 
dred  sympathy  for  the  oppressed ! 

After  congratulations  and  tokens  of  affection  had  been 
exchanged,  master,  missus,  and  the  people — for  such  they 
now  were — repaired  to  the  green  in  front  of  the  plantation 
mansion,  where  a  sumptuous  collation  was  spread  out,  to 


620  PEOSPBKITT  THE  BESTTLT  OP  JUSTICE. 

v?hich  all  sat  down  in  one  harmonious  circle.  Then  the  fes 
tivities  of  the  day — a  4th  of  July  in  miniature — ended  with 
a  gathering  at  Dad  Daniel's  cabin,  where  he  profoundly  laid 
down  a  system  of  rules  for  the  future  observance  of  the 
people. 

Six  months  have  passed  under  the  new  regime  ;  and  Rose- 
brook,  feeling  that  to  require  labour  of  his  people  for  a  sum 
much  beneath  its  value  must  in  time  become  a  source  from 
which  evil  results  would  flow,  awarded  them  a  just  and  ade 
quate  remuneration,  and  finds  it  work  well.  Harry  had  not 
been  included  among  those  who  were  enrolled  as  candidates 
for  the  enjoyment  offered  by  the  new  system ;  but  missus 
as  well  as  master  had  confidentially  promised  him  he  should 
be  free  before  many  years,  and  with  his  family,  if  he  desired, 
sent  to  Liberia,  to  work  for  the  enlightenment  of  his  fellow 
Africans.  Harry  was  not  altogether  satisfied  that  the 
greater  amount  of  labour  to  be  done  by  him  for  the  unfortu 
nate  of  his  race  was  beyond  the  southern  democratic  states 
of  America ;  and,  with  this  doubt  instinctively  before  him, 
he  was  not  restless  for  the  consummation. 

Some  three  months  after  the  introduction  of  the  new 
state  of  affairs,  Dad  Daniel  was  observed  to  have  something 
weighing  heavily  on  his  mind.  At  times  he  was  seen  con 
sulting  seriously  with  Harry ;  but  of  the  purport  of  these 
consultations  no  one,  except  themselves,  was  made  ac 
quainted.  That  very  many  venerable  uncles  and  aunts 
were  curious  to  know  Daddy's  secret  contemplations  was 
equally  evident.  At  length  Daniel  called  a  meeting  of  his 
more  aged  and  sagacious  brethren,  and  with  sage  face  made 
known  his  cherished  •  project.  Absalom  and  Uncle  Cato 
listened  with  breathless  suspense  as  the  sage  sayings  fell 
from  his  lips.  His  brethren  had  all  felt  the  sweet  pleasures 
of  justice,  righl;,  freedom,  and  kindness.  "  "Well,  den, 
broderin,  is't  'um  right  in  de  sight  ob  de  Lord,  dat  ye  for 
gets  dat  broder  what  done  so  much  fo'h  ye  bodv  and  ye 
Koul  too  P" 

"No,  No  !  dat  tisn't!"  interrupted  a  dozen  voices. 

"  Well,  den  ! — I  kuow'd,  broderin,  ye  hab  got  da'  bright 
spirit  in  ye,  and  wouldn't  say  'twas  !"  Daniel  continues, 
making  a  gesture  with  his  left  hand,  as  he  raises  the  spec 
tacles  from  his  eyes  with  his  right,  and  in  his  fervency  lets 
them  speed  across  the  room.  Daniel  ia  only  made  conscious 


PB08PEEITY  THE  RESULT  OF  JUSTICE.  521 

of  his  ecstasy  when  his  broken  eves  are  returned  to  him. 
Turning  to  his  brethren,  he  makes  one  of  his  very  best 
apologies,  and  continues — "  Dis  ar  poposition  I'se  gwine  to 
put  !  And  dat  is,  dat  all  ye  broderin  ere  present  put  up 
somefin  ob  he  arnin,  and  wid  dat  somefin,  and  what  mas'r 
gib,  too,  we  sarve  dat  geman  what  preach  the  gospel  dat  do 
'em  good  wid  'e  freedom  for  sef  and  family.  Tain't  right  in 
de  sight  ob  de  Lor,  nohow,  to  have  preacher  slave  and  con- 
gration  free  :  I  tell  ye  dat,  my  broderin,  tain't !"  With 
these  sage  remarks,  Daddy  Daniel  concluded  his  proposition, 
leaned  his  body  forward,  spread  his  hands,  and,  his  wrinkled 
face  filled  with  comicality,  waited  the  unanimous  response 
which  sounded  forth  in  rapturous  medley.  Each  one  wa3 
to  put  in  his  mite,  the  preacher  was  to  have  a  fund  made  up 
for  him,  which  was  to  be  placed  in  the  hands  of  missus,  and 
when  sufficiently  large  (master  will  add  his  mite)  be  handed 
over  for  the  freedom  of  the  clergyman  and  his  family.  But 
missus,  ever  generous  and  watchful  of  their  interests,  had 
learned  their  intentions,  and  forestalled  their  kindness  by 
herself  setting  them  free,  and  leaving  it  to  their  own  discre 
tion  to  go  where  they  will.  There  were  many  good  men  at 
the  south — men  whose  care  of  their  slaves  constituted  a 
bond  of  good  faith  ;  but  they  failed  to  carry  out  means  for 
protecting  the  slave  against  the  mendacity  of  the  tyrant. 
None  more  than  Harry  had  felt  how  implicated  was  the 
state  for  giving  great  power  to  tyrant  democracy — that  de 
mocracy  giving  him  no  common  right  under  the  laws  of  the 
land,  unless,  indeed,  he  could  change  his  skin.  Ardently  as 
he  was  attached  to  the  plantation  and  its  people — much  as 
he  loved  good  master  and  missus,  he  would  prefer  a  home  in 
happy  New  England,  a  peaceful  life  among  its  liberty -living 
people.  To  this  end  the  Rosebrooks  provided  him  *with 
money,  sent  him  to  the  land  he  had  longed  to  live  in.  In 
Connecticut  he  has  a  neat  and  comfortable  home,  far  from 
the  cares  of  slave  life ;  no  bloodhounds  seek  him  there,  no 
cruel  slave-dealer  haunts  his  dreams.  An  intelligent  family 
have  grown  up  around  him  ;  their  smiles  make  him  happy  ; 
they  welcome  him  as  a  father  who  will  no  more  be  torn 
from  them  and  sold  in  a  democratic  slave  mart.  And,  too, 
Harry  is  a  hearty  worker  in  the  cause  of  freedom,  preaches 
the  gospel,  and  is  the  inventor  of  a  system  of  education  by 
which  he  hopes  to  elevate  the  fallen  of  his  race.  He  has 


622  PEOSPEBITT  THE  HESULT  OF  JUSTICE. 

visited  foreign  lands,  been  listened  to  by  dukes  and  nobles, 
and  enlisted  the  sympathies  of  the  lofty  in  the  cause  of  tho 
lowly.  And  while  his  appeals  on  behalf  of  his  race  are 
fervent  and  fiery,  his  expositions  of  the  wrongs  of  slavery 
are  equally  fierce ;  but  he  is  not  ungrateful  to  the  good 
master,  whom  he  would  elevate  high  above  the  cruel  laws 
he  is  born  and  educated  to  observe.  With  gratitude  and 
affection  does  he  recur  to  the  generous  Rosebrooks ;  he 
would  hold  them  forth  as  an  example  to  the  slave  world, 
and  emblazon  their  works  on  the  pages  of  history,  as  proof  of 
what  cau  be  done.  Bright  in  his  eventful  life,  was  the  day, 
when,  about  to  take  his  departure  from  the  slave  world,  he  bid 
the  Rosebrooks  a  long,  long  good  by.  He  vividly  remembers 
how  hope  seemed  lighting  up  the  prospect  before  him — how 
good  missus  shook  his  hand  so  motherly — how  kindly  she 
spoke  to  Jane,  and  how  fondly  she  patted  his  little  ones  on 
the  head.  "  The  Rosebrooks,"  says  our  restored  clergy 
man,  "  have  nothing  to  fear  save  the  laws  of  the  state, 
which  may  one  day  make  tyrranny  crumble  beneath  its  own 
burden." 


CHAPTER  XL VIII. 

IN  WHICH  THE  FATE  OF  FKANCONIA  IS  SEEN. 

THE  reader  may  remember  that  in  a  former  chapter  we  left 
Aunette  and  Franconia,  in  company  of  the  stranger,  on 
board  the  steamer  for  Wilmington,  swiftly  gliding  on  her 
course.  Four  bells  struck  as  the  surging  craft  cleared  the 
headlands  and  shaped  her  course.  The  slender  invalid,  so 
neat  of  figure,  and  whose  dress  exhibited  so  much  good 
taste,  has  been  suddenly  transformed  into  a  delicate  girl  of 
some  seventeen  summers.  As  night  spreads  its  shadows  over 
the  briny  scene,  and  the  steaming  craft  surges  onward  over 
rolling  swells,  this  delicate  girl  may  be  seen  emerging 
from  her  cabin  confines,  leaning  on  Franconia's  arm  as  she 
approaches  the  promenade  deck.  Her  fawn-coloured  dress, 
setting  as  neatly  as  it  is  chastefully  cut,  displays  a  rounded 
form  nicely  compact ;  and,  together  with  a  drawn  bonnet  of 
green  silk,  simply  arranged,  and  adding  to  her  fair  oval  face 
an  air  of  peculiar  delicacy,  present  her  with  personal  at 
tractions  of  no  ordinary  character.  And  then -her  soft  blue 
eyes,  and  her  almost  golden  hair,  hanging  in  thick  wavy 
folds  over  her  carnatic  cheeks,  add  to  the  symmetry  of  her 
features  that  sweetness  which  makes  modesty  more  fasci 
nating.  And  though  she  has  been  but  a  slave,  there  is  a 
glow  of  gentleness  pervading  her  countenance,  over  which 
a  playful  smile  now  sheds  a  glow  of  vivacity,  as  if  awakening 
within  her  bosom  new  hopes  of  the  future. 

The  suddenness  with  which  they  embarked  served  to  con 
fuse  and  dispel  all  traces  of  recognition;  and  even  the 
stranger,  as  they  advanced  toward  him,  hesitated  ere  he 
greeted  Annette  and  extended  his  hand.  But  they  soon 
joined  in  conversation,  promenaded  and  mingled  with  the 
passengers.  Cautious  not  to  enter  the  main  cabin,  they 
remained,  supperless,  on  the  upper  deck,  until  near 
midnight.  That  social  prejudice  which  acts  like  a  crushing 
weight  upon  the  slave's  mind  was  no  longer  to  deaden  her 
faculties  ;  no,  she  seemed  like  a  new  being,  as,  with  childish 
simplicity,  her  soul  bounded  forth  in  rhapsody  of  praise  and 


624  THE  FATE  OP  FRANCONIA. 

thankfulness.  Holding  Franconia  by  the  hand,  she  would 
kiss  her,  fondle  her  head  on  her  bosom,  and  continue  to 
recount  the  pleasure  she  anticipated  when  meeting  her  long- 
lost  mother.  "  They'll  sell  me  no  more,  Franconia,  will 
they  ?"  she  would  exclaim,  looking  enquiringly  in  her 
face. 

"  No,  my  poor  child  ;  you  won't  be  worth  selling  in  a  land 
of  freedom!"  Franconia  would  answer,  jocosely.  After 
charging  Maxwell  to  be  a  father  and  a  brother  to  the 
fugitive  girl, — to  remember  that  a  double  duty  was  to  be 
performed  in  his  guardianship  over  the  being  who  had  just 
escaped  from  slavery,  they  retired  below,  and  on  the 
following  morning  found  themselves  safely  landed  at 
"Wilmington,  where,  after  remaining  about  six  hours, 
Franconia  bid  Annette  and  Maxwell  adieu !  saw  them  on 
their  way  to  New  York,  and  returned  to  Charleston  by  the 
same  steamer. 

On  reaching  her  home,  she  was  overjoyed  at  finding  a 
letter  from  her  parents,  who,  as  set  forth,  had  many  years 
resided  on  the  west  coast  of  Mexico,  and  had  amassed  a 
considerable  fortune  through  a  connection  with  some 
mining  operations.  Lorenzo,  on  the  first  discovery  of  gold 
in  California,  having  joined  a  marauding  party  who  were 
traversing  that  country,  was  amongst  the  earliest  who 
enriched  themselves  from  its  bountiful  yield.  They  gave  up 
their  wild  pursuits,  and  with  energy  and  prudence  stored-up 
their  diggings,  and  resolved  to  lead  a  new  life.  With  the 
result  of  one  year's  digging,  Lorenzo  repaired  to  San 
Francisco,  entered  upon  a  lucrative  business,  increased  his 
fortune,  and  soon  became  a  leading  man  of  the  place.  The 
hope  that  at  some  day  he  would  have  means  wherewith  to 
return  home,  wipe  away  the  stain  which  blotted  his  cha 
racter,  and  relieve  his  parents  from  the  troubles  into  which 
his  follies  had  brought  them,  seemed  like  a  guiding  star  ever 
before  him.  And  then  there  was  his  generous-hearted  uncle 
in  the  hands  of  Graspum, — that  man  who  never  lost  an 
opportunity  of  enriching  himself  while  distressing  others. 
And  now,  by  one  of  those  singularities  of  fortune  which 
give  persons  long  separated  a  key  to  each  other's  wayfaring, 
Lorenzo  had  found  out  the  residence  of  his  parents  on  the 
west  coast  of  Mexico.  Tes  ;  he  was  witli  them,  enjoying  the 
comforts  of  their  domicile,  at  the  date  of  their  letter.  How 


THE  FATE  OF  FRA5CONIA.  525 

happy  they  would  be  to  see  their  Franconia,  to  have  her 
with  them,  and  once  more  enjoy  their  social  re-unions  so 
pleasantly  given  on  brother  Marston's  plantation !  Number 
less  were  the  letters  they  had  written  her,  but  not  an 
answer  to  one  had  been  received.  This  had  been  to  them  a 
source  of  great  misgiving  ;  and  as  a  last  resource  they  had 
sent  this  letter  enclosed  to  a  friend,  through  whose  kindness 
it  reached  her. 

The  happy  intelligence  brought  by  this  letter  so  overjoyed 
Franconia  that  she  could  with  difficulty  restrain  her 
feelings.  Tears  of  gladness  coursed  down  her  cheeks,  as  she 
rested  her  head  on  Mrs.  Rosebrook's  bosom,  saying,  "  Oh, 
how  happy  I  am !  Sweet  is  the  forgiveness  which  awaits 
us. — strong  is  the  hope  that  through  darkness  carries  us  into 
brighter  prospects  of  the  future."  Her  parents  were 
yet  alive — happy  and  prosperous ;  her  brother,  again  an 
honourable  man,  and  regretting  that  error  which  cost  him 
many  a  tear,  was  with  them.  How  inscrutable  was  the  will 
of  an  all- wise  Providence:  but  how  just!  To  be  ever  sanguine, 
and  hope  for  the  best,  is  a  passion  none  should  be  ashamed 
of,  she  thought.  Thus  elated  in  spirits  she  could  not  resist 
the  temptation  of  seeking  them  out,  and  enjoying  the  com 
forts  of  their  parental  roof. 

But  we  must  here  inform  the  reader  that  M'Carstrow  no 
longer  acted  the  part  of  a  husband  towards  Franconia.  His 
conduct  as  a  debauchee  had  driven  her  to  seek  shelter  under 
the  roof  of  Rosebrook's  cottage,  while  he,  a  degraded 
libertine,  having  wasted  his  living  among  cast-out  gamblers, 
mingled  only  with  their  despicable  society.  Stripped  of  all 
arts  and  disguises,  and  presented  in  its  best  form,  the  result 
of  i'ranconia's  marriage  with  Colonel  M'Carstrow  was  but 
one  of  those  very  many  unhappy  connections  so  characteristic 
of  southern  life. 

Provided  with  funds  which  the  generous  Rosebrooks 
kindly  furnished  her,  a  fortnight  after  the  receipt  of  her 
father's  letter  found  her  embarked  on  board  a  steamer 
bound  for  the  Isthmus,  from  whence  she  would  seek  her 
parents  overland.  "With  earnest  resolution  she  had  taken 
a  fond  leave  of  the  Rosebrooks,  and  bid  adieu  to  that  home 
and  its  associations  so  dear  to  her  childhood ;  and  with 
God  and  happy  associations  her  guide  and  her  protector, 
was  bounding  over  the  sea.  For  three  days  the  gallant 


526  THE  PATE  OF  FEAJfCOKIA. 

skip  sped  swiftly  onward,  and  the  passengers,  among  whom 
she  made  many  friends,  seemed  to  enjoy  themselves  with 
one  accord,  mingling  together  for  various  amusements, 
spreading  their  social  influence  for  the  good  of  all,  and, 
with  elated  spirits  at  the  bright  prospect,  anticipating  a 
speedy  voyage.  All  was  bright,  calm,  and  cheering — the 
monster  machines  working  smoothly,  pressing  the  leviathan 
forward  with  curling  brine  at  her  bows,  until  the  afternoon 
of  the  fourth  day,  when  the  wind  in  sharp  gusts  from  the 
south-west,  and  the  sudden  falling  of  the  barometer, 
admonished  the  mariner  of  the  approaching  heavy  weather. 
At  sunset  a  heavy  bank  in  the  west  hung  its  foreboding 
festoons  along  the  horizon,  while  light,  fleecy  clouds 
gathered  over  the  heavens,  and  scudded  swiftly  into  the  east. 
Steadily  the  wind  increased,  the  sea  became  restless,  and  the 
sharp  chops  thundering  at  the  weather  bow,  veering  the 
ship  from  her  course,  rendering  it  necessary  to  keep  her 
head  a  point  nearer  the  westward,  betokened  a  gale.  To 
leeward  were  the  Bahamas,  their  dangerous  banks  spreading 
awe  among  the  passengers,  and  exciting  the  fears  of  the 
more  timid.  On  the  starboard  bow  was  Key  West,  with 
its  threatening  and  deceptive  reefs,  but  far  enough  ahead  to 
be  out  of  danger.  At  midnight,  the  wind,  which  had 
increased  to  a  gale,  howled  in  threatening  fierceness.  Over 
head,  the  leaden  clouds  hung  low  their  massive  folds,  and  thick 
spray  buried  the  decks  and  rigging ;  beneath,  the  angry  ocean 
spread  out  in  resistless  waves  of  phosphorous  light,  and  the 
gallant  craft  surged  to  and  fro  like  a  thing  of  life  on  a  plain 
of  rolling  fire.  Now  she  yields  to  the  monster  wave 
threatening  her  bow,  over  another  she  rides  proudly,  and 
to  a  third  her  engines  slowly  rumble  round,  as  with  half- 
buried  deck  she  careens  to  its  force.  The  man.  at  the  wheel, 
whose  head  we  see  near  a  glimmering  light  at  the  stern, 
watches  anxiously  for  the  word  of  command,  and  when 
received,  executes  it  with  quickness.  An  intruding  sea  has 
driven  the  look-out  from  the  knight-heads  to  a  post  at  the 
funnel,  where,  near  the  foremast,  he  clings  with  tenacious  grip. 
Near  him  is  the  first  officer,  a  veteran  seaman,  who  has  seen 
some  twenty  years'  service,  receiving  orders  from  the 
captain,  who  stands  at  the  weather  quarter.  Noiselessly 
the  men  proceed  to  execute  their  duties.  There  is  not  that 
bustle  nor  display  of  seamanship,  in  preparing  a  steamer  for 


THE  PATE  OF  FRANCONIA.  527 

encountering  a  gale,  so  necessary  in  a  sailing-snip  ;  ax>d  all. 
save  the  angry  elements,  move  cautiously  on.  The  engineer, 
in  obedience  to  the  captain's  orders,  has  slowed  his  engines. 
The  ship  can  make  but  little  headway  against  the  fierce 
sea  ;  but  still,  obedient  to  her  command,.it  is  thought  better 
to  maintain  power  just  sufficient  to  keep  her  head  to  the 
Sen.  The  captain  says  it  is  necessary,  as  well  to  ease  her 
working  as  not  to  strain  her  machinery.  He  is  supposed 
the  better  judge,  and  to  his  counsel  all  give  ear.  Now  and 
then  a  more  resolute  passenger  shoots  from  no  one  knows 
where,  holds  struggling  by  the  jerking  shroud,  and,  wrapt 
in  his  storm  cloak,  his  amazed  eyes,  watching  the  scudding 
elements  overhead,  peer  out  upon  the  raging  sea :  then  he 
mutters,  "  What  an  awful  sight !  how  madly  grand  with 
briny  light !"  How  sublimely  terrific  are  the  elements  here 
combined  to  wage  war  against  the  craft  he  thought  safe 
from  their  thunders  !  She  is  but  a  pigmy  in  their  devouring 
sweep,  a  feeble  prey  at  their  mercy.  The  starboard  wheel 
rumbles  as  it  turns  far  out  of  water  ;  the  larboard  is  buried  in 
a  deep  sea  the  ship  careens  into.  Through  the  fierce  drear 
he  sees  the  black  funnel  vomiting  its  fiery  vapour  high  aloft; 
he  hears  the  chain  braces  strain  and  creak  in  its  support ; 
he  is  jerked  from  his  grasp,  becomes  alarmed  for  his  safety, 
and  suddenly  disappears.  In  the  cabin  he  tells  his  fellow 
voyagers  how  the  storm  rages  fearfully  :  out  it  needed  not 
his  word  to  confirm  the  fact :  the  sudden  lurching,  creaking 
of  panel- work,  swinging  to  and  fro  of  lamps,  sliding  from 
larboard  to  starboard  of  furniture,  the  thumping  of  the  sea 
against  the  ship's  sides,  prostrate  passengers  made  helpless 
by  sea  sickness,  uucouched  and  distributed  about  the 
floor,  moaning  females,  making  those  not  ill  sick  with  their 
wailings,  timid  passengers  in  piteous  accents  making  their 
lamentations  in  state  rooms,  the  half  frightened  waiter 
struggling  timidly  along,  and  the  wind's  mournful  music  as 
it  plays  through  the  shrouds,  tell  the  tale  but  too  forcibly. 
Hope,  fear,  and  prayer,  mingle  in  curious  discord  on  board 
this  seemingly  forlorn  ship  on  an  angry  sea.  Pranconia 
lies  prostrate  in  her  narrow  berth,  now  bracing  against  the 
panels,  then  startled  by  an  angry  sea  striking  at  her  pillow, 
like  death  with  his  warning  mallet  announcing,  "  but  sixteeit 
inches  separate  us !" 
Daylight  dawns  forth,  much  to  the  relief  of  mariners  and 


528  THE  FATE  OF  FKANCONIA- 

passengers ;  but  neither  the  wind  nor  the  sea  have  lessened 
their  fierceness.  Slowly  arid  steadily  the  engines  work  on  ; 
the  good  ship  looks  defiantly  at  each  threatening  sea,  as  it 
sweeps  along  irresistibly ;  the  yards  have  been  sent  down, 
the  topmasts  are  struck  and  housed ;  everything  that  can 
render  her  easy  in  a  sea  has  been  stowed  to  the  snuggest 
compass ;  but  the  broad  ocean  is  spread  out  a  sheet 
of  raging  foam.  The  drenched  captain,  his  whiskers  matted 
with  saline,  and  his  face  glowing  and  flushed  (he  has  stood 
the  deck  all  night),  may  be  seen  in  the  main  cabin,  cheering 
and  dispelling  the  fears  of  his  passengers.  The  storm 
cannot  last — the  wind  will  soon  lull — the  sea  at  meridian 
will  be  as  calm  as  any  mill-pond — he  has  seen  a  thousand 
worse  gales :  so  says  the  mariner,  who  will  pledge  his 
prophecy  on  his  twenty  years'  experience.  But  in  this  one 
instance  hia  prophecy  failed,  for  at  noon  the  gale  had 
increased  to  a  hurricane,  the  ship  laboured  fearfully,  the 
engines  strained  and  worked  unsteadily,  while  tlie  sea  at 
intervals  made  a  breach  of  the  deck.  At  two  o'clock  a  more 
gloomy  spectacle  presented  itself;  and  despondency  seemed 
to  have  seized  all  on  board,  as  a  sharp,  cone-like  sea  boarded 
the  ship  abaft,  carried  away  the  quarter-boats  from  the 
starboard  davys,  and  started  several  stancheons.  Scarcely 
was  the  work  of  destruction  complete,  when  the  condenser 
of  the  larboard  engine  gave  out,  rendering  the  machine 
useless,  and  spreading  dismay  among  the  passengers.  Thus, 
dragging  the  wheel  in  so  fearful  a  sea  strained  the  ship 
more  and  more,  and  rendered  her  almost  unmanageable. 
Again  a  heavy,  clanking  noise  was  heard,  the  steam  rumbled 
from  the  funnel,  thick  vapour  escaped  from  the  hatchways, 
the  starboard  engine  stopped,  and  consternation  reigned  tri 
umphant,  as  a  man  in  oily  fustian  approached  the  captain 
and  announced  both  engines  disabled.  The  unmanageable 
monster  now  rolled  and  surged  at  the  sweep  of  each  suc 
ceeding  sea,  which  threatened  to  engulph  her  in  its  sway. 
A  piece  of  canvas  is  set  in  the  main  rigging,  and  her  helm 
put  hard  down,  in  the  hope  of  keeping  her  head  to  the  wind 
But  she  obeys  not  its  direction.  Suddenly  she  yaws  off  ink. 
the  trough  of  the  sea,  lurches  broad  on,  and  ere  she  regains 
her  way,  a  fierce  sea  sweeps  the  house  from  the  decks,  car 
rying  those  within  it  into  a  watery  grave.  Shrieks  and 
moans,  for  a  moment,  mingle  their  painful  discord  with 


THE  PATE  OF  FBANCONIA.  529 

the  murmuring  wind,  and  all  is  buried  in  the  roar  of  the 
elements.  By  bracing  the  fore-yard  hard-a-starboard  the 
unwieldy  wreck  is  got  before  the  wind ;  but  the  smoke- 
funnel  has  followed  the  house,  and  so  complete  is  the  work 
of  demolition  that  it  is  with  difficulty  she  can  be  kept 
afloat.  Those  who  were  in  the  main,  or  lower  cabin, 
startled  at  the  sudden  crash  which  had  removed  the  house 
above,  and  leaving  the  passages  open,  exposing  them  to 
the  rushing  water  that  invaded  their  state-rooms,  seek  the 
deck,  where  a  more  dismal  sight  is  presented  in  the  frag 
ments  of  wreck  spread  from  knight-head  to  taffrail.  The 
anxious  captain,  having  descended  from  the  upper  deck  a 
few  minutes  before  the  dire  calamity,  is  saved  to  his  passen 
gers,  with  whom  and  his  men  he  labours  to  make  safe  what 
remains  of  his  noble  ship.  Now  more  at  ease  in  the  sea, 
with  canvas  brought  from  the  store-rooms,  are  the  hatches 
and  companions  battened  down,  the  splintered  stancheous 
cleared  away,  and  extra  pumps  prepared  for  clearing 
the  water  fast  gaining  in  the  lower  hold.  Lumber 
ing  moves  the  heavy  mass  over  the  mounting  surge ;  but  a 
serious  leak  having  sprung  in  the  bow,  consternation  and 
alarm  seem  on  the  point  of  adding  to  the  sources  of  danger. 
"  Coolness  is  our  safeguard,"  says  the  captain.  Indeed, 
the  exercise  of  that  all-important  virtue  when  destruction 
threatens  would  have  saved  thousands  from  watery  graves. 

His  admonition  was  heeded, — all  worked  cheerfully,  and 
for  some  time  the  water  was  kept  within  bounds  of  subjec 
tion.  As  night  approached  the  sea  became  calmer,  a  bright 
streak  gleamed  along  the  western  horizon;  hearts  that  had 
sorrowed  gladdened  with  joy,  as  the  murky  clouds  overhead 
chased  quickly  into  the  east  and  dissolved,  and  the  blue 
arch  of  heaven — hung  with  pearly  stars  of  hope — shed  its 
peaceful  glows  over  the  murmuring  sea. 

Again  the  night  was  passed  in  incessant  labour  of  pump 
ing  and  clearing  up  the  dismantled  hull ;  but  when  day 
light  appeared,  the  wind  having  veered  and  increased,  the 
sea  ran  in  short  swells,  rocking  the  unwieldly  hull,  and 
fearfully  straining  every  timber  in  its  frame.  The  leak  now 
increased  rapidly,  as  also  did  the  water  in  the  hold,  now 
beyond  their  exertions  to  clear.  At  ten  o'clock  all  hopes  of 
keeping  the  wreck  afloat  had  disappeared  ;  and  the  las* 
alternative  of  a  watery  grave,  or  launching  upon  the  broad 


530  THE  FATE  OF  FRANCONIA. 

ocean,  presented  its  stern  terms  for  their  acceptance).  A 
council  decided  to  adopt  the  latter,  when,  as  the  hulk  began 
to  settle  in  the  sea,  and  with  no  little  danger  of  swamping, 
boats  were  launched,  supplied  with  such  stores  as  were  at 
hand,  the  passengers  and  crew  embarked,  and  the  frail 
barks  sent  away  with  their  hapless  freight  to  seek  a  haven 
of  safety.  The  leviathan  hulk  soon  disappeared  from  sight. 
Franconia,  with  twenty-five  fellow  unfortunates,  five  of  whom 
were  females,  had  embarked  in  the  mate's  boat,  which  now 
shaped  her  course  for  Nassau,  the  wind  having  veered  into 
the  north-west,  and  that  seeming  the  nearest  and  most 
available  point.  The  clothing  they  stood  in  was  all  they 
saved ;  but  with  that  readiness  to  protect  the  female,  so 
characteristic  and  noble  of  the  sailor,  the  mate  and  his  men 
lightened  the  sufferings  of  the  women  by  giving  them  a 
portion  of  their  own :  incasing  them  with  their  jackets  aud 
fearnoughts,  they  would  shield  them  from  the  night  chill. 
For  five  days  were  sufferings  endured  without  a  murmur 
that  can  only  be  appreciated  by  those  who  have  passed 
through  shipwreck,  or,  tossed  upon  the  ocean  in  an  open 
boat,  been  left  to  stare  in  the  face  grim  hunger  and 
death.  At  noonday  they  sighted  land  ahead  ;  and  as  each 
eager  eye  strained  for  the  welcome  sight,  it  seemed  rising 
from  the  ocean  in  a  dim  line  of  haze.  Slowly,  as  they  neared, 
did  it  come  bolder  and  bolder  to  view,  until  it  shone  out 
a  long  belt  of  white  panoramic  banks.  Low,  and  to  the 
unpractised  eye  deceptive  of  distance,  the  mate  pronouncea 
it  not  many  miles  off,  and,  the  wind  freshening  fair,  kept  the 
little  bark  steadily  on  her  course,  hoping  thereby  to  gain  it 
before  night  came  on :  but  the  sun  sank  in  a  heavy  cloud 
when  yet  some  four  miles  intervened.  Distinctly  they  saw 
a  cluster  of  houses  on  a  projecting  point  nearly  ahead  ;  but 
not  a  sail  was  off  shore,  to  which  the  increasing  wind  was 
driving  them  with  great  violence. 

And  now  that  object  which  had  been  sighted  with  so 
much  welcome  in  the  morning — that  had  cheered  many  a 
drooping  heart,  and  seemed  a  haven  of  safety,  threatened 
their  destruction.  The  water  shoaled ;  the  sea  broke  and 
surged  in  sharp  cones ;  the  little  craft  tippled  and  yawed 
confusedly  ;  the  counter  eddies  twirled  and  whirled  in 
foaming  concaves ;  and  leaden  clouds  again  hung  their 
threatening  festoons  over  the  awful  sea.  To  lay  her  head 


THE  FATE  OF  FRANCONIA.  531 

to  the  sea  was  impracticable — an  attempt  to  "  lay-to  "  under 
the  little  sail  would  be  madness  ;  onward  she  rode,  hurrying 
to  an  inevitable  fate.  Away  she  swept  through  the  white 
crests,  as  the  wind  murmured  and  the  sea  roared,  and  the 
anxious  countenance  of  the  mate,  still  guiding  the  craft 
with  a  steady  hand,  seemed  masked  in  watchfulness. 
His  hand  remained  firm  to  the  helm,  his  eyes  peered 
into  the  black  prospect  ahead:  but  not  a  word  did  he 
utter. 

It  was  near  "ten  o'clock,  when  a  noise  as  of  thunder  rolling 
in  the  distance,  and  re-echoing  in  booming  accents,  broke 
fearfully  upon  their  ears.  The  sea,  every  moment  threaten 
ing  to  engulph  the  little  craft,  to  sweep  its  freight  of 
human  beings  into  eternity,  and  to  seal  for  ever  all  traces 
of  their  fate,  was  now  the  lesser  enemy.  Not  a^word  had 
escaped  the  lips  of  a  being  on  board  for  several  minutes ; 
all  seemed  resigned  to  whatever  fate  Providence  awarded. 

"  The  beach  roars,  Mr.  Slade — " 

The  mate  interrupted  before  the  seaman  in  the  sheets  had 
time  to  finish  his  sentence :  "  I  have  not  been  deaf  to  the 
breakers  ;  but  there  is  no  hope  for  us  but  upon  the  beach  ; 
and  may  heaven  save  us  there !  Passengers,  be  calm !  let 
me  enjoin  you  to  remain  firm  to  your  places,  and,  if  it  be 
God's  will  that  we  strike,  the  curling  surf  may  be  our 
deliverer.  If  it  carry  you  to  the  sand  in  its  sweep,  press 
quickly  and  resolutely  forward,  lest  it  drag  you  back  in  its 
grasp,  and  bury  you  beneath  its  angry  surge.  Be  firm,  and 
hope  for  the  best !"  he  said,  with  great  firmness.  The  man 
who  first  spoke  sat  near  Franeonia,  and  during  the  five  days 
they  had  been  in  the  boat  exhibited  great  sympathy  and 
kindness  of  heart.  He  had  served  her  with  food,  and, 
though  a  common  sailor,  displayed  those  traits  of  tenderness 
for  the  suffering  which  it  were  well  if  those  in  higher 
sphereo  of  life  did  but  imitate.  As  the  mate  ceased  speaking, 
the  man  took  his  pilot  coat  from  his  shoulder  and  placed  it 
about  Franconia's,  saying,  "  I  will  save  this  lady,  or  die  with 
her  in  the  very  same  sea." 

"  That's  well  done,  Mr.  Higgins !  (for  such  was  the  man's- 
name).  Let  the  hardiest  not  forget  the  females  who  have 
shown  so  much  fortitude  under  trying  circumstances ;  let 
the  strong  not  forget  the  weak,  but  all  save  who  can,'* 
returned  the  mate,  as  he  scanned  through  the  stormy 


532  THE  FATE  OF  FEAKCONIA. 

elements  ahead,  in  the  hope  of  catching  a  glimpse  of  the 
point. 

Drenched  with  the  "briny  spray  that  swept  over  the 
little  bark,  never  did  woman  exhibit  fortitude  more  reso 
lute.  Franconia  thanked  the  man  for  his  solicitude, 
laid  her  hand  nervously  upon  his  arm,  and,  through  the 
dark,  watched  his  countenance  as  if  her  fate  was  in  its 
changes. 

The  din  and  murmur  of  the  surf  now  rose  high  above 
the  wail  of  the  sea.  Fearful  and  gloomy,  a  fretted  shore 
stood  out  before  them,  extending  from  a  bold  jut  on  the 
starboard  hand  away  into  the  darkness  on  the  left.  Be 
neath  it  the  angry  surf  beat  and  lashed  against  the 
beach  in  a  sheet  of  white  foam,  roaring  in  dismal  ca 
dences. 

"  Hadn't  you  better  put  her  broad  on,  Mr.  Slade  ?'" 
enquired  the  young  seaman,  peering  along  the  line  of  surf 
that  bordered  the  shore  with  its  deluging  bank. 

"  Ask  no  questions  !"  returned  the  mate,  in  a  firm  voice  : 
"  Act  to  the  moment,  when  she  strikes — I  will  act  until 
then."  At  the  moment  a  terrific  rumbling  broke  forth ; 
the  din  of  elements  seemed  in  battle  conflict ;  the  little 
bark,  as  if  by  some  unforeseen  force,  swept  through  the  lash 
ing  surge,  over  a  high  curling  wave,  and  with  a  fearful  crash 
lay  buriedin  theboiling  sand.  Agonising  shrieks  sounded  amid 
the  rage  of  elements  ;  and  then  fainter  and  fainter  they  died 
away  on  thewind's  murmurs.  Another  moment,  and  the  young 
sailor  might  have  been  seen,  Franconia' s  slender  form  in  his 
arms,  struggling  against  the  devouring  surf;  but  how  vain 
against  the  fierce  monster  were  his  noble  efforts  !  The  re 
ceding  surge  swept  them  far  from  the  shore,  and  buried 
them  in  its  folds, — a  watery  grave  received  the  fair  form  of 
one  whose  life  of  love  had  been  spotless,  just,  and  holy. 
The  white  wave  was  her  winding-sheet, — the  wind  sang  a 
requiem  over  her  watery  grave, — and  a  just  God  received  her 
spirit,  and  enthroned  it  high  among  the  angels. 

Of  the  twenty-seven  who  embarked  in  the  little  craft,  but 
two  gained  the  beach,  where  they  stood  drenched  and  for 
lorn,  as  if  contemplating  the  raging  surf  that  had  but  a 
minute  before  swallowed  up  their  fellow  voyagers.  The 
boat  had  driven  on  a  flat  sandy  beach  some  two  miles  from 


THE  FATE  OF  FRANCONIA.  533 

the  point  on  which  stood  the  cluster  of 'dwellings  before  de 
scribed  ;  and  from  which  two  bright  lights  glimmered,  like  bea 
cons  to  guide  the  forlorn  mariner.  For  them,  the  escaped  men 
— one  a  passenger,  the  other  a  seaman — shaped  their  course,  wet, 
and  sad  at  heart. 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

IN  WHICH  IS  A  SAD  RECOGNITION. 

THE  mate  did  not  mistake  his  position,  for  the  jut  of 
land  we  described  in  the  last  chapter  is  but  a  few  hours'  ride 
from  Nassau,  and  the  houses  are  inhabited  by  wreckers. 
With  desponding  hearts  did  our  unfortunates  approach  ono 
of  the  rude  cabins,  from  the  window  of  which  a  faint  light 
glimmered,  and  hesitate  at  the  door,  as  if  doubting  the  re 
ception  they  were  about  to  receive.  The  roaring  of  the 
beach,  and  the  sharp  whistling  of  the  wind,  as  in  clouds  it 
scattered  the  sand  through  the  air,  drowned  what  sound 
might  otherwise  be  heard  from  within.  "  This  cabin  seems 
deserted,"  says  one,  as  he  taps  on  the  door  a  second  time. 
"  No,  that  cannot  be  !"  returns  the  other,  peering  through 
a  small  window  into  the  barrack-like  room.  It  was  from 
this  window  the  light  shone,  and,  being  a  bleak  November 
night,  a  wood  fire  blazed  on  the  great  hearth,  shedding 
its  lurid  glows  over  everything  around.  It  is  the  pale,  saline 
light  of  wreckwood.  A  large  binnacle  lamp,  of  copper, 
hung  from  the  centre  of  the  ceiling,  its  murky  light 
mingling  in  curious  contrast  to  the  pale  shadows  of  the 
wreckwood  fire.  Rude  chains,  and  chests,  and  boxes,  and 
ropes,  and  canvas,  and  broken  bolts  of  copper,  and  pieces  of 
valuable  wood,  and  various  nautical  relics  — all  indicating 
the  trade  of  shipwreck,  lie  or  stand  promiscuously 
about  the  room  ;  while  in  the  centre  is  a  table  surrounded 
by  chairs,  some  of  which  are  turned  aside,  as  if  the  occu 
pants  had  just  left.  Again,  there  may  be  seen  hanging 
from  the  unplastered  walls  numerous  teeth  of  fish,  bones 
and  Jaws  of  sharks,  fins  and  flukes  of  curious  species,  heads 
of  the  Fliridian  mamalukes,  and  preserved  dolphins — all  is 
interspersed  here  and  there  with  coloured  prints,  illustrative 
of  Jack's  leaving  or  returning  to  his  favourite  Mary,  with  a 
lingering  farewell  or  fond  embrace. 
Louder  and  louder,  assured  of  some  living  being  within 


A.  SAD  SECOGNITION.  535 

they  knock  at  the  door,  until  a  hoarse  voice  rather  roara 
than  speaks — "Aye,  aye!  hold  hard  a  bit!  I'se  bearin'  a 
hand !"  The  sound  came  as  if  from  the  clouds,  for  not  a 
living  being  was  visible.  A  pause  followed  ;  then  suddenly 
a  pair  of  dingy  legs  and  feet  descended  from  a  small  opening 
above  the  window,  which,  until  that  moment,  had  escaped 
their  no'tice.  The  sight  was,  indeed,  not  the  most  en 
couraging  to  weak  nerves.  Clumsily  lowered  the  legs,  the 
feet  making  a  ladder  of  cleets  of  wood  nailed  to  the  window, 
until  the  burly  figure  of  the  wrecker,  encased  with  red 
shirt  and  blue  trousers,  stood  out  full  to  view.  Over 
his  head  stood  bristly  hair  in  jagged  tufts ;  and  as  he 
drew  his  brawny  hand  over  the  broad  disc  of  his  sun- 
scorched  face,  winking  and  twisting  his  eyes  in  the  glare, 
there  stood  boldly  outlined  on  his  features  the  index  of 
his  profession.  He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  gathered  his 
nether  garments  quickly  about  him,  paused  as  if  half  con 
fused  and  half  overjoyed,  then  ran  to  the  fire-place,  threw 
into  a  heap  the  charred  wood  with  a  long  wooden  poker, 
and  sought  the  door,  saying — "  Avast  heavin  a  bit,  Tom !'' 
Having  removed  a  wooden  bar,  he  stands  in  the  opening, 
braving  out  the  storm.  "  A  screachin  nor'-easter  this, 
Tom — what'r  ye  sighted  away,  eh  !"  he  concludes.  He 
is' — to  use  a  vulgar  term — aghast  with  surprise.  It  was 
Tom  Dasher's  watch  to-night;  but  no  Tom  stands  before  him. 
"  Hallo  ! — From  whence  came  you  ?"  he  enquires  of  the 
stranger,  with  an  air  of  anxious  surprise.  He  bids  them 
come  in,  for  the  wind  carries  the  sand  rushing  into  his 
domicile. 

"We  are  shipwrecked  men  in  distress,"  says  the  pas 
senger — the  wrecker,  with  an  air  of  kindness,  motioning 
them  to  sit  down:  "  Our  party  have  been  swallowed  up  in 
the  surf  a  short  distance  below,  and  we  are  the  only  survivors 
here  seeking  shelter." 

"  Zounds  you  say — God  be  merciful !"  interrupts  the 
hardy  wrecker,  ere  the  stranger  had  time  to  finish  his  sen 
tence.  "  It  was  Tom's  look-out  to-night.  Ita  oilers  the 
way  wi*  him — he  gits  turned  in,  and  sleeps  as  niver  a  body 
see'd,  and  when  time  comes  to  unbunk  himself,  one  disn't 
know  whether  'ts  wind  or  Tom's  snoarin  cracks  hardest. 
Well,  well, — God  help  us  !  Think  ye  now,  if  wife  and  I, 
didn't,  in  a  half  sort  of  dream,  fancy  folks  murmuring  and 


586  A  SAB 

crying  on  the  beach  about  twelve,  say.  But  the  wind  and 
the  surf  kept  up  such  a  piping,  and  Tom  said  ther  war 
nought  a  sight  at  sundown."  With  a  warm  expression  of 
good  intention  did  our  hardy  host  set  about  the  preparing 
something  to  cheer  their  drooping  spirits.  "  Be  at  home 
there  wi'  me,"  says  he  ;  "  and  it'  tilings  b'nt  as  fine  as  they 
might  be,  remember  we're  poor  folks,  and  have  many  a  hard 
knock  on  the  reefs  for  what  we  drag  out.  Excuse  the  bits 
o'  things  ye  may  see  about ;  and  wife  '11  be  down  in  a  fip 
and  do  the  vary  best  she  can  fo'h  ye."  He  had  a  warm  heart 
concealed  beneath  that  rough  exterior;  he  had  long  followed 
the  daring  profession,  seen  much  suffering,  lightened  many  a 
Borrowing  heart.  Bustling  about  among  old  boxes  and  bags, 
he  soon  drew  forth  a  lot  of  blankets  and  qailts,  which  he  spread 
upon  the  broad  brick  hearth,  at  the  same  time  keeping  up  a 
series  of  questions  they  found  difficult  to  answer,  so  rapidly 
were  they  put.  They  had  indeed  fallen  into  the  hands  of  a 
good  Samaritan,  who  would  dress  their  wounds  with  his  best 
balms. 

"  An'  now  I  tak  it  ye  must  be  famished ;  so  my  old 
woman  muat  get  up  an'  help  mak  ye  comfortable,"  says  he, 
bringing  forth  a  black  tea-kettle,  and  filling  it  from  a  pail 
that  stood  on  a  shelf  near  the  fire -frame.  He  will  hang  it 
on  the  fire.  He  had  no  need  of  calling  the  good  dame ;  for 
as  suddenly  as  mysteriously  does  the  chubby  figure  of  a 
motherly-looking  female  of  some  forty  years  shoot  from 
the  before  described  opening,  and  greeting  the  strangers 
•with  a  hearty  welcome,  set  about  preparing  something  to 
relieve  their  exhaustion.  A  gentle  smile  pervades  her  little 
red  face,  so  simply  expressive  •,  her  peaked  cap  shines  so 
brightly  in  contrast  with  the  black  ribbon  with  which  she 
secures  it  under  her  mole-bedecked  chin ;  and  her  short 
homespun  frock  sets  so  comely,  showing  her  thick  knit 
stockings,  and  her  feet  well  protected  in  calfskin  laces,  with 
heels  a  trooper  might  not  despise ;  and  then,  she  spreads 
her  little  table  with  a  heartiness  that  adds  its  value  to  simple 
goodness, — her  invitingly  clean  cups  and  saucers,  arid 
knives  and  forks,  as  she  spreads  them,  look  so  cheerful.  The 
kettle  begins  to  sing,  and  the  steam  fumes  from  the  spout, 
and  the  hardy  wrecker  brings  his  bottle  of  old  Jamaica,  and 
his  sugar ;  and  such  a  bowl  of  hot  punch  was  never  made 
before.  "  Come  now,"  he  says,  "ye're  in  my  little  place ; 


A  SAD  RECOGNITION.  637 

the  wrecker  as  don't  make  the  distressed  comfortable 
aneath  his  ruf  's  a  disgrace  to  the  craft."  And  now  he 
hands  each  a  mug  of  steaming  punch,  whicli  they  wel- 
comely  receive,  a  glow  of  satisfaction  bespreading  his  face, 
telling  with  what  sincerity  he  gives  it.  Ere  they  com 
menced  sipping,  the  good  dame  brought  pilot  bread  and 
set  it  before  them;  and  while  she  returned  to  preparing 
her  supper  the  wrecker  draws  his  wooden  seat  by  their 
side,  and  with  ears  attentive  listens  to  the  passenger  as  he 
recites  the  disaster. 

"  Only  two  out  of  twenty-seven  saved — a  sorry  place 
that  gulf!"  he  exclaims;  "you  bear  away,  wife.  Ah, 
many  a  good  body's  bones,  too,  have  whitened  the  beach 
beside  us ;  many  's  the  bold  fellow  has  been  dashed  upon  it 
to  die  unknown,"  he  continues,  with  serious  face.  "  And 
war  ner  onny  wemen  amang  ye,  good  man  ?"  interposes  the 
good  dame. 

"  Seven  ;  they  have  all  passed  into  eternity  !"  rejoins  the 
seaman,  who,  till  then,  had  been  a  mute  looker-on. 

"  Poor  souls  !  how  they  mun'  'ave  suffered  I"  she  sighs, 
shaking  her  head,  and  leaning  against  the  great  fire  frame, 
as  her  eyes  fill  with  tears.  The  wrecker  must  needs  acquaint 
Tom  Dasher,  bring  him  to  his  aid,  and,  though  the  storm 
yet  rages,  go  search  the  beating  surf  where  roll  the  unfor 
tunates.  Nay,  the  good  dame  will  herself  execute  the 
errand  of  mercy,  while  he  supplies  the  strangers  with  dry 
clothes  ;  she  will  bring  Tom  hither.  She  fears  not  the  tem 
pest  while  her  soul  warms  to  do  good ;  she  will  comfort  the 
distressed  who  seek  shelter  under  her  roof.  With  the  best 
his  rough  wardrobe  affords  does  the  wreckev  clothe  them, 
while  his  good  wife,  getting  Tom  up,  relates  her  story,  and 
hastens  back  with  him  to  her  domicile.  Tom  is  an  intrepid 
seafarer,  has  spent  some  seven  years  wrecking,  saved  many  a 
life  from  the  grasp  of  the  grand  Bahama,  and  laid  up  a  good 
bit  of  money  lest  some  stormy  day  may  overtake  him  and 
make  the  wife  a  widow. 

"  This  is  a  hard  case,  Stores  1"  says  Tom,  addressing 
himself  to  our  wrecker,  as  with  sharp,  hairy  i'ace,  and 
keen  black  eyes,  his  countenance  assumes  great  serious 
ness.  Giving  his  sou'-wester  a  cant  back  on  his  head, 
running  his  left  hand  deep  into  the  pockot  of  hia  pea-jacket, 


538  A  SAD  RECOGNITION. 

and  supplying  I  is  mouth  with  tobacco  from  his  right,  he 
stands  his  tall  figure  carelessly  before  the  fire,  and  in  a 
contemplative  mood  remains  silent  for  a  few  minutes. 

"Aye,  but  somethin'  mun'  be  done,  Tom,"  says  the  first 
wrecker,  breaking  silence. 

"  Yes ;  as  my  name  is  Tom  Dasher,  there  must.  We 
must  go  to  the  beach,  and  see  what  it's  turned  up, — what 
there  is  to  be  seen,  an'  the  like  o'  that."  Then,  turning  to 
the  strangers,  he  continued,  "  Pity  yer  skipper  hadn't  a 
headed  her  two  points  further  suthard,  rounded  the  point 
just  above  here  a  bit,  and  made  a  lee  under  the  bend.  Our 
craft  lies  there  now, — as  snug  as  Tompkins'  wife  in  her 
chamber !" 

"Yes,  but,  Tom!  ye  dinna  think  as  the  poor  folks 
could  know  all  things,"  speaks  up  the  woman,  as  Tom  was 
about  to  add  a  few  items  more,  merely  to  give  the  strangers 
some  evidence  of  his  skill. 

"  Aye,  aye, — all  right ;  I  didn't  get  the  balance  on't  just 
then,"  returned  Tom,  nodding  his  head  with  an  air  of 
satisfaction. 

A  nice  supper  of  broiled  fish,  and  toast,  and  tea,  and  hot 
rum  punch  —  of  which  Tom  helped  himself  without  stint 
— was  set  out,  the  strangers  invited  to  draw  up,  and  all 
partook  of  the  plain  but  cheering  fare.  As  daylight  was 
fast  approaching,  the  two  wreckers  dispatched  their  meal 
before  the  others,  and  sought  the  spot  on  the  beach  de 
scribed  as  where  the  fatal  wreck  took  place,  while  the  good 
dame  put  the  shipwrecked  to  sleep  in  the  attic,  and  covered 
them  with  her  warmest  rugs  and  blankets. 

Not  a  vestige  of  the  wreck  was  to  be  seen — not  a 
fragment  to  mark  the  spot  where  but  a  few  hours  before 
twenty-five  souls  were  hurried  into  eternity.  They  stood 
and  stood,  scanning  over  the  angry  ocean  into  the  gloom : 
nothing  save  the  wail  of  the  wind  and  the  sea's  roar  greeted 
their  ears.  Tom  Dasher  thinks  either  they  have  been  borne 
out  into  the  fathomless  caves,  or  the  men  are  knaves  with 
false  stories  in  their  mouths. 

Stores,— for  such  is  our  good  man's  name — turning  from 
the  spot,  says  daylight  will  disclose  a  different  scene ;  with 
the  wind  as  it  is  the  bodies  will  be  drawn  into  the  eddy 
on  the  point,  and  thrown  ashore  by  the  under- current,  for 


A  SAD  RECOGNITION.  539 

burial.  "  Poor  creatures !  there's  no  help  for  them  now ;" 
he  adds,  sighing,  as  they  wend  their  way  back  to  the  cabin, 
where  the  good  dame  waits  their  coming.  Their  search 
was  in  vain;  having  no  news  to  bring  her,  she  must  be 
contented  until  morning.  If  the  bodies  wash  ashore,  the 
good  woman  of  the  Humane  Society  will  come  down  from 
the  town,  and  see  them  decently  buried.  Stores  has  several 
times  spoken  of  this  good  woman ;  were  she  a  ministering 
angel  he  could  not  speak  of  her  name  with  more  reverence. 
Eor  years,  he  tells  us,  has  she  been  a  harbinger  of  good, 
ever  relieving  the  sick  and  needy,  cheering  the  downcast, 
protecting  the  unfortunate.  Her  name  has  become  a 
symbol  of  compassion ;  she  mingles  with  the  richest  and 
the  poorest,  and  none  know  her  but  to  love  and  esteem 
her.  "  And  she,  too,  is  an  American  lady !"  Stores  says,, 
exultingly.  And  to  judge  from  his  praise,  we  should  say, 
if  her  many  noble  deeds  were  recorded  on  fair  marble,  it 
would  not  add  one  jot  to  that  impression  of  her  goo'dnesa 
made  on  the  hearts  of  the  people  among  whom  she  lives. 

"Ah,  man!  she's  a  good  woman,  and  everybody  loves  and 
looks  up  to  her.  And  she's  worth  loving,  too,  because  she's 
so  kind,"  adds  the  good  dame,  significantly  canting  her  head. 
Daylight  was  now  breaking  in  the  east,  and  as  there 
seemed  no  chance  of  making  a  search  on  the  bank  that 
day,  such  was  the  fierceness  of  the  wind,  the  two  men 
drank  again  of  the  punch,  spread  their  blankets  before  the 
fire,  lay  their  hardy  figures  down,  and  were  soon  in  a 
profound  sleep.  The  woman,  more  watchful,  coiled  herself 
in  a  corner  of  the  room  on  some  sail-cloth,  but  did  not 
steep. 

At  ten  o'clock  they  were  aroused  by  the  neighbours, 
who,  in  great  anxiety,  had  come  to  inform  them  of  an  event 
they  were  already  conscious  of, — adding,  however,  as  an 
evidence  of  what  had  taken  place,  that  sixteen  male  and 
three  female  bodies,  borne  to  the  rips  at  the  point,  had  been 
thrown  upon  the  shore.  The  denizens  of  the  point  were 
indeed  in  a  state  of  excitement ;  a  messenger  had  been  sent 
into  the  town  for  the  coroner,  which  said  functionary  soon 
spread  the  news  about,  creating  no  little  commotion  among 
the  inhabitants,  many  of  whom  repaired  to  the  scene  of 
the  disaster.  35  ^ 


540  A  SAD  RECOGNITION. 

"WTien  it  became  known  that  two  witnesses  to  the  dire 
misfortune  had  been  spared  to  tell  the  tale,  and  were  now 
at  Stores'  house,  the  excitement  calmed  into  sympathy. 
The  wrecker's  little  village  resounded  with  curious  enquiries, 
and  few  were  they  who  would  be  satisfied  without  a  recital 
of  the  sad  tale  by  the  rescued  men. 

Carefully  they  brought  the  dead  bodies  from  the  shore, 
and  laid  them  in  an  untenanted  house,  to  await  the  coroner's 
order.  Among  them  was  the  slender  form  of  Franconia, 
the  dark  dress  in  which  she  was  clad  but  little  torn,  and  the 
rings  yet  remaining  on  her  fingers.  "  How  with  fortitude 
she  bore  the  suffering  !"  said  the  rescued  passenger,  gazing 
on  her  blanched  features  as  they  laid  her  on  the  floor :  the 
wrecker's  wife  covered  her  with  a  white  sheet,  and  spread 
a  pillow  carefully  beneath  her  head. 

"Yes!"  returns  the  unfortunate  seaman,  who  stood  by 
his  side,  "  she  seemed  of  great  goodness  and  gentleness. 
She  said  nothing,  bore  everything  without  a  murmur ;  she 
was  Higgins'  pet ;  and  I'll  lay  he  died  trying  to  save  her, 
for  never  a  braver  fellow  than  Jack  Higgins  stood  trick  at 
a  wheel. 

The  coroner  arrives  as  the  last  corpse  is  brought  from 
the  sand :  he  holds  his  brief  inquest,  orders  them  buried,  and 
retires.  Soon,  three  ladies — Stores'  wife  tells  us  they  are  of 
the  Humane  Society — make  their  appearance  in  search  of  the 
deceased.  They  enter  Stores'  house,  greet  his  good  dame 
familiarly,  and  remain  seated  while  she  relates  what  has 
happened.  One  of  the  three  is  tall  and  stately  of  figure, 
and  dressed  with  that  quiet  taste  so  becoming  a  lady.  And 
while  to  the  less  observing  eye  no  visible  superiority  over  the 
others  is  discernible,  it  is  evident  they  view  her  in  such  a  light, 
always  yielding  to  her  counsels.  Beneath  a  silk  bonnet 
trimmed  with  great  neatness,  is  disclosed  a  finely  oval 
face,  glowing  with  features  of  much  regularity,  large  dark 
e^es  of  great  softness,  and  silky  hair,  laid  in  heavy  wavy 
folds  across  a  beautifully  arched  brow — to  which  is  added 
a  sweet  smile  that  ever  and  anon  plays  over  her  slightly  olive 
countenance.  There,  boldly  outlined,  is  the  unmistakeable 
guide  to  a  frank  and  gentle  nature.  For  several  minutes  does 
she  listen  to  the  honest  woman's  recital  of  the  sad  event,  which 
is  suspended  by  the  passenger  making  his  appearance. 
The  wrecker's  wife  introduces  him  by  motioning  her  hand, 


A  SAD  lEcocuriTioir.  541 

and  saying,  "  This  is  the  kind  lady  of  whose  goodness  I 
spoke  so  last  night."  Anxiously  does  she  gather  from  the 
stranger  each  and  every  incident  of  the  voyage  :  this  done, 
she  will  go  to  the  house  where  lay  the  dead,  our  good 
Dame  Stores  leading  the  way,  talking  from  the  very  honesty 
of  her  heart  the  while.  In  a  small  dilapidated  dwelling  on 
the  bleak  sands,  the  dead  lay.  Children  and  old  men  linger 
about  the  door, — now  they  make  strange  mutterings,and  walk 
away,  as  if  in  fear.  Our  messengers  of  mercy  have  entered 
the  abode  of  the  dead.  The  wrecker's  wife  says,  "  They 
are  to  be  buried  to-morrow,  ma'am  ;"  while  the  lady,  with 
singular  firmness,  glances  her  eye  along  the  row  of  male 
bodies,  counting  them  one  by  one.  She  has  brought 
shrouds,  in  which  to  bury  them  like  Christians. 

"  Them  three  females  is  here,  ma'am,"  says  Dame  Stores, 
touching  the  lady  on  the  elbow,  as  she  proceeds  to  uncover 
the  bodies.  The  passenger  did,  indeed,  tell  our  Lady  of 
Mercy  there  was  one  handsome  lady  from  Carolina.  One 
by  one  she  views  their  blanched  and  besanded  features. 

"A  bonny  figure  that,  mum-  I  lay  she's  bin  a  handsome 
in  her  day,"  with  honest  simplicity  remarks  Dame  Stores, 
as,  bent  over  the  lifeless  body  of  Franconia,  she  turns  back 
the  sheet,  carefully.  "  Yes,"  is  the  quick  reply  :  the  philan 
thropic  woman's  keen  eye  scans  along  the  body  from  head 
to  foot.  Dame  Stores  will  part  the  silken  hair  from  off  that 
cold  brow,  and  smooth  it  with  her  hand.  Suddenly  our 
lady's  eyes  dart  forth  anxiety ;  she  recognises  some 
familiar  feature,  and  trembles.  The  rescued  seaman  had 
been  quietly  viewing  the  bodies,  as  if  to  distinguish  their 
different  persons,  when  a  wrecker,  who  had  assisted  in 
removing  the  bodies,  entered  the  room  and  approached  him. 
"Ah!"  exclaims  the  seaman,  suddenly,  "yonder's  poor 
Jack  Higgins."  He  points  to  a  besanded  body  at  the 
right,  the  arms  torn  and  bent  partly  over  the  breast,  adding, 
"  Jack  had  a  good  heart,  he  had."  Turning  half  round,  th« 
wrecker  replies,  "  That  'un  had  this  'un.  fast  grappled  in  his 
arms ;  it  was  a  time  afore  we  got  'urn  apart." 

"  Was  it  this  body  1 ''  enquires  the  lady,  looking  at  the 
lifeless  form  before  her.  He  says,  "  That  same,  ma'am  ;  an' 
it  looked  as  if  he  had  tried  to  save  the  slender  woman." 
He  points  to  the  body  which  Dame  Stores  has  just  uncov 
ered.  The  good  lady  kneels  over  the  body :  her  face  suddenly 


642  A  SAD  BECOGmiTIOH. 

becomes  pale ;  her  lips  purple  and  quiver ;  she  seems  sink 
ing  with  nervous  excitement,  as  tremulously  she  seizes  the 
blanched  hand  in  her  own.  Cold  and  frigid,  it  will  not 
yield  to  her  touch.  "  That  face — those  brows,  those  pearly 
teeth,  those  lips  so  delicate, — those  hands, — those  deathless 
emblems !  how  like  Franconia  they  seem,"  she  ejaculates 
frantically,  the  bystanders  looking  on  with  surprise.  "  And 
are  they  not  my  Franconia' s — my  dear  deliverer's  ?"  she 
continues.  She  smooths  the  cold  hands,  and  chafes  them  in 
her  own.  The  rings  thereon  were  a  present  from  Marston. 
"  Those  features  like  unto  chiselled  marble  are  hers  ;  I  am 
not  deceived  :  no  !  oh  no !  it  cannot  be  a  dream  (in  sorrow 
she  shakes  her  head  as  the  tears  begin  to  moisten  her 
cheeks),  she  received  my  letter,  and  was  on  her  way  seeking 
me.v  Again  she  smooths  and  smooths  her  left  hand  over 
those  pallid  cheeks,  her  right  still  pressing  the  cold  hand  of 
the  corpse,  as  her  emotions  burst  forth  in  agonising  sobs. 

The  wrecker's  wife  loosens  the  dress  from  about  deceased's 
neck, — bares  that  bosom  once  so  fair  and  beautiful.  A  small 
locket,  attached  to  a  plain  black  necklace,  lies  upon  it,  like 
a  moat  on  a  snowy  surface.  Nervously  does  the  good 
woman  grasp  it,  and  opening  it  behold  a  miniature  of 
Marston,  a  facsimile  of  which  is  in  her  own  possession. 
"  Somethin'  more  'ere,  mum,"  says  Dame  Stores,  drawing 
from  beneath  a  lace  stomacher  the  lap  of  her  chemise,  on 
which  is  written  in  indelible  ink — "  Franconia  M'Carstrow." 
The  doubt  no  longer  lent  its  aid  to  hope ;  the  lady's 
sorrowing  heart  can  no  longer  withstand  the  shock.  Weep 
ing  tears  of  anguish,  she  says,  "  May  the  God  of  all 
goodness  preserve  her  pure  spirit,  for  it  is  my  Franconia ! 
she  who  was  my  saviour ;  she  it  was  who  snatched  me  from 
death,  and  put  my  feet  on  the  dry  land  of  freedom,  and 

gave  me — ah,  me  !"  she  shrieked, and  fell  swooning  over 

the  lifeless  body,  ere  Dame  Stores  had  time  to  clasp  her  in 
her  arms. 

My  reader  can  scarcely  have  failed  to  recognise  in  this 
messenger  of  mercy, — this  good  woman  who  had  so  ennobled 
herself  by  seeking  the  sufferer  and  relieving  his  wants,  and 
who  makes  light  the  cares  of  the  lowly,  the  person  of  that 
slave-mother,  Clotilda.  Having  drank  of  the  bitterness  of 
slavery,  she  the  more  earnestly  cheers  the  desponding.  That 
lifeless  form,  once  so  bright  of  beauty,  so  buoyant  of  heart 


A  SAD  RECOGNITION.  543 

and  joyous  of  spirit,  is  Eranconia  ;  she  it  was  who  delivered 
the  slave-mother  from  the  yoke  of  bondage,  set  her  feet  on 
freedom's  heights,  and  on  her  head  invoked  its  genial 
blessings.  Her  soul  had  yearned  for  the  slave's  good  ;  she 
had  been  a  mother  to  Annette,  and  dared  snatch  her  from 
him  Tvho  made  the  slave  a  wretch, — democracy  his  boast ! 
It  wo,s  Franconia  who  placed  the  miniature  of  Marston 
about  Clotilda's  neck  on  the  night  she  effected  her  escape, — 
bid  her  Grod  speed  ,  into  freedom.  All  that  once  so 
abounded  in  goodness  now  lies  cold  in  death.  Eternity  has 
closed  her  lips  with  its  strong  seal, — no  longer  shall  her 
soul  be  harassed  with  the  wrongs  of  a  slave  world :  no  !  her 
pure  spirit  has  ascended  among  the  angels. 

We  will  not  longer  pain  the  reader's  feelings  with  details 
of  this  sad  recognition,  but  inform  him  that  the  body  was 
removed  to  Clotilda's  peaceful  habitation,  from  whence, 
with  becoming  ceremony,  it  was  buried  on  the  following  day. 
A  small  marble  tablet,  standing  in  a  sequestered  church 
yard  near  the  outskirts  of  Nassau,  and  on  which  the 
traveller  may  read  these  simple  words  : — "  Franconia,  my 
friend,  lie^here  !  "  over  which,  in  a  circle,  is  chiseled  the  figure 
of  an  angel  descending,  and  beneath,  "  How  happy  in  Heaven 
are  the  Good  !  "  marks  the  spot  where  her  ashes  rest  in  peace. 


CHAPTER  L. 

IN  WHICH  A  DANGEROUS  PRINCIPLE  IS  ILLUSTRATED. 

SHOULD  the  sagacious  reader  be  disappointed  in  our  hero 
Nicholas,  who,  instead  of  being  represented  as  a  model  of 
disinterestedness,  perilling  his  life  to  save  others,  sacrificing 
his  own  interests  for  the  cause  of  liberty,  and  wasting  on 
hardened  mankind  all  those  amiable  qualities  which  belong 
only  to  angels,  but  with  which  heroes  are  generally  invested 
for  the  happy  purpose  of  pleasing  the  lover  of  romance, 
has  evinced  little  else  than  an  unbending  will,  he  will  find 
a  palliation  in  that  condition  of  life  to  which  his  oppressors 
have  forced  him  to  submit.  Had  Nicholas  enjoyed  his 
•-liberty,  many  incidents  of  a  purely  disinterested  character 
might  have  been  recorded  to  his  fame,  for  indeed  he  had 
noble  traits.  That  we  have  not  put  fiery  word^s  into  his 
mouth,  with  which  to  execrate  the  tyrant,  while  invoking 
the  vengeance  of  heaven — and,  too,  that  we  are  guilty  of  the 
ci'ime  of  thus  suddenly  transferring  him  from  boyhood  to 
manhood,  nor  have  hanged  him  to  please  the  envious  aiul 
vicious, — will  find  excuse  with  the  indulgent  reader,  who  will 
be  kind  enough  to  consider  that  it  is  our  business  to 
relate  facts  as  they  are,  to  the  performance  of  which 
-unthankful  though  it  may  be— we  have  drawn  from  the 
abundance  of  material  placed  in  our  hand  by  the  southern 
world.  We  may  misname  characters  and  transpose 
scenes,  but  southern  manners  and  customs  we  have  trans 
cribed  from  nature,  to  which  stern  book  we  have  religiously 
adhered.  And,  too  (if  the  reader  will  pardon  the  digression), 
though  we  never  have  agreed  with  our  very  best  admirers  of 
the  galJows,some  of  whom  hold  it  a  meansof  correcting  morals 
— nor,are  yet  ready  to  yield  assent  to  the  opinionsof  the  many, 
so  popularly  laid  down  in  favour  of  what  we  consider  a 
medium  of  very  unwholesome  influence,  we  readily  admit  the 
existence  of  many  persons  who  have  well  merited  a  very 
good  hanging.  But,  were  the  same  rules  of  evidence 
admissible  in  a  court  of  law  when  a  thief  is  on  trial,  applied 


DANGEBOUS  PBISTCIPLES  ILLUSTRATED.  545 

against  the  practice  of  "publicly  hanging,"  there  would  be 
little  difficulty  in  convicting  it  of  inciting  to  crime.  Not 
only  does  the  problem  of  complex  philosophy — the  reader 
may  make  the  philosophy  to  suit  his  taste — presented  in 
the  contrariety  of  scenes  on  and  about  the  gallows  offer  some 
thing  irreconcileable  to  ordinary  minds,  but  gives  to  the 
humorous  large  means  with  which  to  feast  their  love  of  the 
ludicrous.  On  the  scaffold  of  destruction,  our  good  brothers 
of  the  clergy  would,  pointing  to  the  "  awful  example," 
assure  the  motley  assembly  gathered  beneath,  that  he  hath 
purified  that  soul,  which  will  surely  be  accepted  in  heaven ; 
but,  he  can  in  no  wise  condescend  to  let  it,  still  directing  the 
flesh,  live  on  the  less  pure  platform  of  earth.  With  eager 
eyes,  the  mass  beneath  him,  their  morbid  appetites  curiously 
distended,  heed  not  the  good  admonition  ;  nay,  the  curious 
wait  in  breathless  suspense  the  launching  a  human  being 
into  eternity ;  the  vicious  are  busy  in  crime  the  while ;  the 
heedless  make  gay  the  holiday.  Sum  up  the  invention  and 
perpetration  of  crime  beneath  the  gallows  on  one  of  those 
singular  gala-days,  and  the  culprit  expiating  his  guilt  at 
the  rope's  end,  as  an  "awful  warning,"  will  indeed  have  dis 
closed  a  shallow  mockery.  Taking  this  view  of  the  hanging 
question,  though  we  would  deprive  no  man  of  his  enjoy 
ment,  we  deem  it  highly  improper  that  our  hero  should  die 
by  any  other  means  than  that  which  the  chivalrous  sons  of 
the  south  declared  "  actually  necessary." 

But  before  proceeding  further  with  Nicholas,  it  may  be 
proper  here  to  state  that  Annette  and  the  stranger,  in 
whose  hands  we  left  her,  have  arrived  safe  at  New  York. 
Maxwell — for  such  is  his  name— is  with  his  uncle  engaged 
in  a  lucrative  commercial  business ;  while  Annette,  for 
reasons  we  shall  hereafter  explain,  instead  of  forthwith 
seeking  the  arms  'of  an  affectionate  mother,  is  being  educated 
at  a  female  seminary  in  a  village  situated  on  the  left  bjftik 
of  the  Hudson  River. 

In  returning  to  Nicholas,  the  reader  will  remember  that 
Grabguy  was  something  of  a  philosopher,  the  all-important 
functions  of  which  medium  he  invoked  on  the  occasion  of  his 
ejectment  from  Fetter's  court,  for  an  interference  which 
might  at  that  moment  have  been  taken  as  evidence  of  repent 
ance.  The  truth,  however,  was,  that  Grabguy,  in  the  exercise 
of  his  philosophy,  found  the  cash  value  of  his  slave  about  to 


646  DANOEBOUS  PEIKCIFLES  ILLUSTRATED. 

be  obliterated  by  the  carrying  out  of  Fetter's  awful  sentence. 
Here  there  rose  that  strange  complexity  which  the  physical 
action  and  mental  force  of  slave  property,  acting  in  con 
trariety,  so  often  produce.      The  physical  of  the  slave  was 
very  valuable,  and   could  be  made  to  yield  ;  but  the  mental 
being   all    powerful  to    oppose,    completely   annulled  the 
monetary  worth.     But  by  allowing  the  lacerations  to  heal, 
sending  him  to  New  Orleans,  and  making  a  positive  sale, 
some  thousand  or  twelve  hundred  dollars  might  be  saved  ; 
whereas,  did  Fetter's  judgment  take  effect,  Mr.  Grabguy 
must  content  himself  with  the  state's  more  humble  award  of 
two  hundred  dollars,  less  the  trouble  of  getting.     In  this 
democratic  perplexity  did   our   economical   alderman   find 
himself  placed,  when,  again  invoking  his  philosophy— not  in 
virtue  of  any  sympathetic  admonition,  for  sympathy  was 
not  of  Grabguy — he  soon  found  means  of  protecting  his 
interests.     To  this  end  he  sought  and  obtained  an  order 
from  the   Court  of  Appeals,  which   grave  judiciary,  after 
duly  considering  the  evidence    on  which  the  criminal  was 
convicted   before   Fetter's  tribunal,  was    of   opinion    that 
evidence  had  been  improperly  extorted  by  cruelty ;  and,  in 
accordance  with  that  opinion,  ordered  a  new  trial,  which 
said  trial  would  be  dististinguished  above  that  at  Fetter's 
court   by   being   presided   over   by   a  judicial  magistrate. 
This  distinguished  functionary,  the  judicial  magistrate,  who 
generally  hears  the  appeals  from  F'etter's  court,  is  a  man 
of  the   name  of  Fairweather  Fuddle,  a  clever  wag,  whose 
great  good-nature  is  only  equalled  by  the  rotundity  of  his 
person,  which  is  not  a  bad  portraiture  of  our  much-abused 
Sir  John  Falstaff,  as  represented  by  the  heavy  men  of  our 
country  theatres.     Now,  to  enter  upon  an  analysis  of  the 
vast   difference  between  Fetter's    court  in   ordinary,  and 
Fuddle's  court  in  judiciary,  would  require  the  aid  of  more 
pmlosophy  than  we  are  capable  of  summoning ;  nor  would 
the  sagacious  reader  be  enlightened  thereby,  inasmuch  as 
the  learned  of  our  own  atmosphere  have  spent  much  study 
on  the  question  without  arriving  at  any  favourable  result. 
Very  low  people,  'tnd  intelligent    negroes — whooe  simple 
mode  of    solving    difficult   problems   frequently   produces 
results  nearest  the  truth — do  say  without  fear  or  trembling 
that  the  distinction  between  these  great  courts  exists  in  the 
fact  of  Justice  Fuddle  drinking  the  more  perfect  brandy. 


DANGEROUS  PRINCIPLES  ILLUSTRATED.  547 

Now,  whether  the  quality  of  brandy  has  anything  to  do 
with  the  purity  of  ideas,  the  character  of  the  judiciary,  or  the 
tempering  of  the  sentences,  we  will  leave  to  the  reader's  dis 
crimination  ;  bat  true  it  is,  that,  while  Fetter's  judgments  are 
always  for  the  state,  Fuddle  leans  to  mercy  and  the  master's 
interests.  Again,  were  Fuddle  to  evince  that  partiality  for 
the  gallows  which  has  become  a  trait  of  character  with  his 
legal  brother,  it  would  avail  him  nothing,  inasmuch  as  by 
confirming  Fetter's  judgments  the  fees  would  alike  remain. 
that  gentleman's.  If,  then,  the  reader  reason  on  the  philo 
sophy  of  self-interest,  he  may  find  the  fees,  whi^h  are  in  no 
wise  small,  founding  the  great  distinction  between  the 
courts  of  Messrs.  Fuddle  and  Fetter ;  for  by  reversing 
Fetter's  judgments  fees  accrue  to  Fuddle's  own  court,  and 
belong  to  his  own  well-lined  pocket ;  whereas,  did  he  confirm 
them,  not  one  cent  of  fees  could  he  claim.  The  state 
should  without  delay  remedy  this  great  wrong,  and  give  its 
judicial  gentlemen  a  fair  chance  of  proving  their  judgments 
well  founded  in  contrariety.  We  should  not,  forsooth, 
forget  to  mention  that  Fuddle,  in  his  love  of  decorum — 
though  he  scarce  ever  sat  in  judgment  without  absorbing 
his  punch  the  while — never  permitted  in  his  forum  the  use 
of  those  knock-down  arguments  which  were  always  a  prelude 
to  Fetter's  judgments. 

Before  Fuddle's  court,  then,  Grrahguy  has  succeeded  in 
getting  a  hearing  for  his  convicted  property,  still  mentally 
obstinate.  Not  the  least  doubt  has  he  of  procuring  a 
judgment  tempered  by  mercy ;  for,  having  well  drunk 
Fuddle  on  the  previous  night,  and  improved  the  oppor 
tunity  for  completely  winning  his  distinguished  considera 
tion,  he  has  not  the  slightest  apprehension  of  being  many 
months  deprived  of  his  property  merely  to  satisfy  injured 
justice.  And,  too,  the  evidence  upon  which  Nicholas  was 
convicted  in  Fetter's  court,  of  an  attempt  to  create  an 
insurrection — the  most  fatal  charge  against  him — was  so 
imperfect  that  the  means  of  overthrowing  it  can  be  pur 
chased  of  any  of  the  attendant  constables  for  a  mere 
trifle, — oaths  with  such  fellows  being  worth  about  sixty-two 
and  a  half  cents  each. 

If  the  reader  will  be  pleased  to  fancy  the  trial  before 
Fetter's  tribunal — before  described — with  the  knock-down 
arguments  omitted,  he  will  have  a  pretty  clear  idea  of 


548  DANGEROUS  PRINCIPLES  ILLUSTRATED. 

that  now  proceeding  before  Fuddle's  ;  and  having  such  will 
excuse  our  entering  into  details.  Having  heard  the  case 
with  most  learned  patience,  the  virtue  of  which  has  been 
well  sustained  by  goodly  potions  of  Paul  and  Brown's 
perfect  "  London  Dock,"  Puddle,  with  grave  deportment, 
receives  from  the  hands  of  the  clerical-looking  clerk — a 
broken-down  gentleman  of  great  legal  ability— the  charge  he 
is  about  to  make  the  jury.  "  Gentlemen,"  he  says, 
"  I  might,  without  any  detriment  to  perfect  impunity, 
place  the  very  highest  encomiums  on  the  capabilities 
displayed  in  the  seriousness  you  have  given  to  this  all- 
important  case,  in  which  the  state  has  such  deep  and  consti 
tutional  interests  ;  but  that  I  need  not  do  here.  The  state 
having  placed  in  my  possession  such  responsible  functions, 
no  one  more  than  me  can  feel  the  importance  of  the 
position ;  and  which  position  has  always  been  made  the 
judicial  medium  of  equity  and  mercy.  I  hold  moderation 
to  be  the  essential  part  of  the  judiciary,  gentlemen !  And 
here  I  would  say  (Fuddle  directs  himself  to  his  gentlemanly 
five)  and  your  intelligence  will  bear  me  out  in  the  state 
ment,  that  the  trial  below  seems  to  have  been  in  error  from 
beginning  to  end.  I  say  this — understand,  gentlemen ! — 
with  all  deference  to  my  learned  brother,  Fetter,  whose 
judgments,  in  the  exercise  of  the  powers  in  me  invested, 
and  with  that  respect  for  legal  equity  by  which  this 
court  is  distinguished,  it  has  become  me  so  often  to 
reverse.  On  the  charge  of  creating  an  insurrection — rather 
an  absurdity,  by  the  way — you  must  discharge  the  prisoner, 
there  being  no  valid  proof;  whereas  the  charge  of  maiming 
or  raiding  his  hand  to  a  white  man,  though  clearly  proved, 
and  according  to  the  statutes  a  capital  offence,  could  not  in 
the  spirit  of  mercy  which  now  prevails  in  our  judiciary — 
and,  here,  let  me  say,  which  is  emulated  by  that  high  state 
of  civilisation  for  which  the  people  of  this  state  are  dis 
tinguished — be  carried  rigidly  into  effect.  There  is  only 
this  one  point,  then,  of  maiming  a  white  gentleman,  with 

intention  Ah !    yes    (a    pause)  the    intention   the 

court  thinks  it  as  well  not  to  mind !  open  to  you  for  a  con 
viction.  Upon  this  point  you  will  render  your  verdict, 
guilty ;  only  adding  a  recommendation  to  the  mercy  of  the 
court."  With  this  admonition,  our  august  Mr.  Fuddle,  his 
face  glowing  in  importance,  sita  down  to  his  mixture  of  Paul 


DANGEBOUS  PRINCIPLES  ILLUSTRATED.  549 

and  Brown's  best.     A  few  moments'  pause — during  which 
Fetter  enters  looking  very  anxious— and  the  jury  have  made 
up  their  verdict,  which  they  submit  on  a  slip  of  paper  to  the 
clerk,  who  in  turn  presents  it  to  Fuddle.     That  functionary 
being  busily  engaged  with  his  punch,  is  made  conscious  of 
the  document  waiting  his  pleasure  bv  the  audience  bursting 
into  a  roar  of  laughter  at  the  comical  picture  presented  in 
the  earnestness  with  which  he  regards  his  punch — some  of 
which  is  streaming  into  his  bosom— and  disregards  the  paper 
held  for  some  minutes  in  the  clerk's  hand,  which  is  in  close 
proximity  with  his  nasal  organ.     Starting  suddenly,  he  lets 
the  goblet  fall  to  the  floor,  his  face  flushing  like  a  broad 
moon  in  harvest-time,  takes    the  paper  in  his  fingers  with 
a  bow,  making  three  of  the  same  nature  to  his  audience,  as 
Fetter  looks  over  the  circular   railing  in  front  of  the  dock, 
his  face  wearing  a  facetious  smile.     "  Nigger  boy  will  clear 
away  the  break, — prisoner  at  the  bar  will  stand  up  for  the 
sentence,  and  the  attending  constable  will  reduce  order  !" 
speaks  Fuddle,  relieving  his  pocket  of  a  red  kerchief  with 
which  he  will  wipe  his  capacious  mouth.     These  requests 
being  complied   with,  he   continues — having    adjusted    his 
glasses  most  learnedly — making  a  gesture  with  his  right 
hand — "  I  hold  in  my  hand  the  solemn  verdict  of  an  intelli 
gent  jury,  who,  after  worthy  and  most  mature  deliberation, 
find  the  prisoner  at  the  bar,  Nicholas  Grrabguy,  guilty  of  the 
heinous  olfence  of  raising  his  hand  to  a  white  man,  whom 
he  severely  maimed  with  a  sharp-edged  tool ;  and  the  jury 
in  their  wisdom,  recognising  the  fact  of  their  verdict  involving 
capital  punishment,  have,  in  the  exercise  of  that  enlightened 
spirit    which    is  inseparable    from  our  age,    recommended 
him  to  the  mercy  of  this  court,  and,  in  the  discretion  of  that 
power  in  me  invested,  I  shall  now  pronounce   sentence." 
Prepare,  the'n,  ye  lovers  of  civilisation,  ye  friends  of  humanity, 
ye  who  would  temper  the  laws  of  our  land  of  freedom  to  the 
circumstance   of  offences — prepare,    I  say,    to    have    your 
ears  and  hearts  made  glad  over  the  swelling  sound  of  this 
most  enlightened  sentence  of  a  court,  where  judgments  are 
tempered  with  mercy.     Our  Lero,  a  chain  hanging  loosely 
from  his   left  arm,  stands  forward  in  the  dock,  his   manly 
deportment  evincing  a  stern  resolution  to  meet  his  fate  un 
subdued.     Fuddle  continues : — "  There  is  no  appeal  from, 
this  court !  (he  forgot  the  court  of  a  brighter  world)  and 


550  •  DANGEEOUS  PRINCIPLES  ILLUSTBATED. 

in  reversing  the  decision  of  the  court  below,  I  sentence 
the  prisoner  to  four  years'  imprisonment  with  hard  labour, 
two  months'  solitary  confinement  in  each  year,  and  thirty 
blows  with  the  paddle,  on  the  first  day  of  each  month  until 
the  expiration  of  the  sentence."  Such,  reader,  was  Puddle's 
merciful  sentence  upon  one  whose  only  crime  was  a  love  of 
freedom  and  justice.  Nicholas  bowed  to  the  sentence  ;  Mr. 
Grabguy  expressed  surprise,  but  no  further  appeal  on  earth 
was  open  to  him  ;  Squire  Fetter  laughed  immeasurably  ; 
and  the  officer  led  his  victim  away  to  the  place  of  durance 
vile. 

To  this  prison,  then,  must  we  go  with  our  hero.     In  this 
magnificent  establishment,  its  princely  exterior  seeming  like 
a  modern  fort  with  frowning  bastions,  are  some  four  hundred 
souls  for  sale  and  punishment.     Among  them  Nicholas  is 
initiated,  having,  for  the  time  being,  received  his  first  instal 
ment   of  blows,    and  takes   his  first  lesson  in  the  act  of 
breaking    stone,  which    profession   is  exclusively  reserved 
for  criminals  of  his  class.     Among  the  notable  characters 
connected  with  this  establishment  is  Philip  Fladge,  the  wily 
superintendent,  whose  power  over  the  criminals  is  next  to 
absolute.     Nicholas  has  been  under  Philip's  guardianship 
but  a  few  months,  when  it  is  found  that  he  may  be  turned 
into   an  investment  which  will  require  only  the  outlay  of 
kindness  and  amelioration  on  his  part  to  become  extremely 
profitable.     Forthwith  a  convention  is    entered   into,    the 
high  contracting  parties  being  Nicholas  and  himself.      Mr. 
Fladge  stipulates  on  his  part  that  the  said  Nicholas,  con 
demned  by  Fairweather  Fuddle's  court  to  such  punishments 
as  are  set  forth  in  the  calendar,  shall  be  exempt  from  all 
such  punishments,  have  the  free  use  of  the  yard,  comfortable 
apartments  to  live  in,  and  be  invested  with  a  ^ort  of  fore- 
manship  over  his  fellow  criminals  ;  in  consideration  of  which 
it  is  stipulated  on  the  part  of  Nicholas  that  he  do  work  at 
the  more  desirable  profession  of    stucco-making,  together 
with- the  execution  of  orders  for  sculpture,  the  proceeds  of 
which  were  to  be  considered  the  property   of  Fladge,  he 
allowing  the  generous  stipend  of  one  shilling  a  week  to  the 
artist.     Here,  then,  Mr.  Fladge  becomes  sensible   of  the 
fact  that  some  good  always  come  of  great  evils,  for  indeed 
his  criminal  was  so  far  proving  a  mine  of  wealth  that  he 
only  hoped  it  might  be  his  fortune  to  receive  many  more 


DANGEROUS  PRINCIPLES  ILLUSTRATED.  551 

such  enemies  of  the  state :  he  cared  not  whether  they  came 
from  Fetter  or  Fuddle's  court.  With  sense  enough  to  keep 
his  heart-burnings  well  stored  away  in  his  own  bosom, 
Nicholas  soon  became  a  sort  of  privileged  character.  But  if 
he  said  little,  he  felt  much  ;  nor  did  he  fail  to  occupy  every 
leisure  moment  in  inciting  his  brother  bondmen  to  a  love 
of  freedom.  So  far  had  he  gained  complele  control  over 
their  feelings,  that  scarce  two  months  of  his  sentence  had 
expired  ere  they  would  have  followed  his  lead  to  death  or 
freedom. 

Among  those  human  souls  stored  for  sale  was  one  Sal 
Stiles,  an  olive  wench  of  great  beauty,  and  daughter  of  one 
of  the  very  first  families.  This  Sal  Stiles,  who  was  indeed 
one  of  the  most  charming  creatures  to  look  upon,  had 
cousins  whom  the  little  world  of  Charleston  viewed  as 
great  belles  ;  but  these  said  belles  were  never  known  to 
ring  out  a  word  in  favour  of  poor  Sal,  who  was,  forsooth, 
only  what— in  our  vulgar  parlance — is  called  a  well-con 
ditioned  and  very  marketable  woman.  Considering,  then, 
that  Nicholas  had  been  separated  by  Q-rabguy  from  his 
wife  and  children,  the  indulgent  reader,  we  feel  assured, 
will  excuse  our  hero  for  falling  passionately  in  love  with 
this  woman.  That  it  was  stipulated  in  the  convention 
between  himself  and  Fladge,  he  should  take  her  unto  himself, 
we  are  not  justified  in  asserting;  nevertheless,  that  that 
functionary  encouraged  the  passion  rather  than  prevented  their 
meetings  is  a  fact  our  little  world  will  not  pretend  to  deny. 


CHAPTER  LI. 

A  CONTINUATION  OF  THE  LAST  CHAPTER. 

A  YEAH  and  two  months  have  rolled  by,  since  Nicholas,  a 
convict,  took  up  his  abode  within  the  frowning  walls  of  a 
prison:  thus  much  of  Fuddle's  merciful  sentence  has  he 
served  out.  In  the  dreary  hours  of  night,  fast  secured  in 
his  granite  cell,  has  he  cherished,  and  even  in  his  dreams 
contemplated,  the  means  of  escaping  into  that  freedom  for 
which  his  soul  yearns.  But,  dearly  does  he  love  Sal  Stiles, 
to  whose  keeping  he  confides  the  secret  of  his  ambition ; 
several  times  might  he,  having  secured  the  confidence  of 
Fladge,  have  effected  his  own  escape  ;  but  the  admonitions  of 
a  faithful  heart  bid  him  not  leave  her  behind  in  slavery.  To 
that  admonition  of  his  bosom  did  he  yield,  and  resolve  never 
to  leave  her  until  he  secured  her  freedom.  A  few  days  after 
he  had  disclosed  to  her  his  resolution,  the  tall  figure  of 
Guy  Grantham,  a  broker  of  slaves  by  profession,  appeared 
in  the  prison  yard,  for  the  purpose  of  carrying  away  the 
woman,  whom  he  had  sold  for  the  Washington  market, 
where  her  charms  would  indeed  be  of  much  value,  during 
the  session,  when  congress-men  most  do  riot.  Already 
were  the  inseparable  chains  about  her  hands,  and  the  mise 
rable  woman,  about  to  be  led  away,  bathed  in  grief.  Nicholas, 
in  his  studies,  had  just  finished  a  -piece  of  scroll-work  for 
Mrs.  Fladge,  as  a  companion  approached  him  in  great  haste, 
and  whispered  the  word  of  trouble— "  they're  taking  her 
away" — in  his  ear.  Quick  as  lightning  did  tWPanger  of  hio 
very  soul  break  forth  like  a  tempest:  he  rushed  from  his 
place  of  labour,  vaulted  as  it  were  to  the  guard  gate,  seized 
the  woman  as  she  stepped  on  the  threshold  in  her  exit,  drew 
her  back  with  great  force,  and  in  a  defiant  attitude,  drawing 
a  long  stiletto  from  his  belt,  placed  himself  between  her  and 
her  destroyer.  "  Foes  of  the  innocent,  your  chains  were  not 
made  for  this  woman ;  never  shall  you  bear  her  from  this ; 
not,  at  least,  while  I  have  arm  to  defend  her,  and  a  soul  that 
cares  not  for  your  vengeance!"  spake  he,  with  curling 


A  CONTINUATION  OF  THE  LAST  CH.4.PTEB.  553 

contempt  on  his  lip,  as  hia  adversaries  stood  aghast  with 
fear  and  trembling.  "  Nay  ! — do  not  advance  one  step,  or 
by  the  God  of  justice  I  make  ye  feel  the  length  of  this 
steel !"  he  continued,  as  G-rantham  nervously  motioned  an 
attempt  to  advance.  Holding  the  woman  with  hia  left  hand 
pressed  backward,  he  brandished  his  stiletto  in  the  faces  of 
his  opponents  with  his  right.  This  was  rebellion  in  ita 
most  legal  acceptation,  and  would  have  justified  the  sum 
mary  process  G-rautham  was  about  adopting  for  the  disposal 
of  the  instigator,  at  whose  head  he  levelled  his  revolver,  and, 
without  effect,  snapped  two  caps,  as  Nicholas  bared  his 
bosom  with  the  taunt — "  Coward,  shoot !"  Mr.  Fladge,  who 
was  now  made  sensible  of  the  error  his  indulgence  had 
committed,  could  not  permit  Q-rantham  the  happy  display 
of  his  bravery ;  no,  he  has  called  to  his  aid  some  ten  sub- 
guardsmen,  and  addressing  the  resolute  Grantham,  bids  him 
lay  aside  his  weapon.  Albeit  he  confesses  his  surprise  at 
such  strange  insolence  and  interference ;  but,  being  respon 
sible  for  the  life,  thinks  it  well  to  hold  a  parley  before  taking 
it.  Forsooth  his  words  fall  useless  on  the  ears  of  Nicholas, 
as  defiantly  he  encircles  the  woman's  waist  with  his  left 
arm,  bears  her  away  to  the  block,  dashes  the  chains  from 
her  hands,  and,  spurning  the  honied  words  of  Fladge, 
hurls  them  in  the  air,  crying :  "  You  have  murdered  the 
flesh; — would  you  chain  the  soul?"  As  he  spoke,  the 
guard,  having  ascended  the  watch  tower,  rings  out  the  first 
alarm  peal.  "Dogs  of  savage  might !  ring  your  alarms ;  I 
care  not,"  he  continued,  casting  a  sardonic  glance  at  the 
tower  as  the  sound  died  away  on  his  ear.  His  pursuers 
now  made  a  rush  upon  him,  but  ere  they  had  secured  him 
he  seized  a  heavy  bludgeon,  and  repelling  their  attack,  found 
some  hundred^!:' his  companions,  armed  with  stone  hammers, 
rallying  in  his  defence.  Seeing  this  formidable  force  thus 
suddenly  come  to  his  rescue,  Mr.  Fladge  and  his  force  were 
compelled  to  fall  back  before  the  advance.  Gallantly  did 
Nicholas  lead  on  his  sable  band,  as  the  woman  sought 
refuge  in  one  of  the  cells,  Mr.  Fladge  and  his  posse 
retreating  into  the  guard-house.  Nicholas,  now  in  full  pos 
session  of  the  citadel,  and  with  consternation  and  confusion 
triumphant  within  the  walls,  found  it  somewhat  difficult  to 
restrain  his  forces  from  taking  possession  of  the  guard 
house,  and  putting  to  death  those  who  had  sought  shelter 


554  A.  CONTINUATION  OF  THE  LAST  CHAPTEB. 

therein.  Calmly  but  firmly  did  he  appeal  to  them,  and 
beseech  them  not  to  commit  an  outrage  against  life.  As 
he  had  placed  himself  between  the  woman  and  her  pursuers, 
so  did  he  place  himself  before  a  file  of  his  sable  companions, 
who,  with  battle  hammers  extended,  rushed  for  the 
great  gates,  as  the  second  alarm  rung  out  its  solemn  peal. 
Counselling  his  compatriots  to  stand  firm,  he  gathered  them 
together  in  the  centre  of  the  square,  and  addressed  them  in 
a  fervent  tone,  the  purport  of  which  was,  that  having  thus 
suddenly  and  unexpectedly  become  plunged  into  what  would 
be  viewed  by  the  laws  of  the  land  as  insurrection,  they 
must  stand  on  the  defensive,  and  remember  it  were  better 
to  die  in  defence  of  right  than  live  under  the  ignorance  and 
sorrow  of  slavery. 

"While  our  hero — whose  singular  exploit  we  have  divested 
of  that  dramatic  effect  presented  in  the  original — addressed 
his  forlorn  band  in  the  area  of  the  prison,  strange  indeed 
was  the  scene  of  confusion  presenting  along  the  streets  of 
the  city.  The  alarm  peals  had  not  died  ineffectual  on  the 
air,  for  as  a  messenger  was  despatched  to  warn  the  civil 
authorities  of  the  sad  dilemma  at  the  prison,  the  great  bell 
of  St.  Michael's  church  answered  the  warning  peal  with  two 
loud  rings;  and  simultaneously  the  city  re-echoed  the 
report  of  a  bloody  insurrection.  On  the  long  line  of 
wharfs  half  circling  the  city,  stood  men  aghast  with  fright ; 
to  the  west  all  was  quiet  about  the  battery  ;  to  the  south, 
the  long  rampart  of  dark  moving  pines  that  bordered  on 
that  side  the  calm  surface  of  a  harbour  of  unsurpassed 
beauty,  seemed  sleeping  in  its  wonted  peacefulness ;  to  the 
east,  as  if  rising  from  the  sea  to  mar  the  beauty  of  the 
scene,  stood  fort  Sumpter's  sombre  bastions,  still  and  quiet 
like  a  monster  reposing ;  while  retracing  along  the  north 
side  of  the  harbour,  no  sign  of  trouble  flutters  from  Fort 
Moultrie  or  Castle  Pinkney — no,  their  savage  embrasures 
are  closed,  and  peace  hangs  in  mists  over  their  dark  walls. 
The  feud  is  in  the  city  of  democrats,  wherein  there  are  few 
who  know  not  the  nature  of  the  warning  peal ;  nor,  indeed, 
act  on  such  occasions  like  a  world  in  fear,  waiting  but  the  tap 
of  the  watchman's  baton  ere  it  rushes  to  bloodshed. 

In  the  busy  portion  of  the  city  have  men  gathered  at  the 
corners  of  the  street  to  hold  confused  controversy  ;  with 
anxious  countenances  and  most  earnest  gesticulations  do  they 


A  CONTINUATION  OF  THE  LAST  CHAPTER.  555 

discuss  the  most  certain  means  of  safety.  Ladies,  in  fright, 
speedily  seek  their  homes,  now  asking  questions  of  a  passer 
by,  whose  intense  excitement  has  carried  off  his  power  of 
speech,  then  shunning  every  luckless  negro  who  chances  in 
their  way.  The  rumour  of  an  insurrection,  however  falsely 
founded,  turns  every  negro  (of  skin  there  is  no  distinction) 
into  an  enemy  ;  whilst  the  second  sound  of  the  alarm  peal 
makes  him  a  bloody  votary,  who  it  needs  but  the  booming 
of  the  cannon  ere  he  be  put  to  the  sword.  Guardsmen, 
with  side-arms  and  cross-belts,  are  eager  and  confused, 
moving  to  and  fro  with  heavy  tread  ;  merchants  and  men  of 
more  easy  professions  hasten  from  their  labours,  seek  their 
homes,  prepare  weapons  for  the  conflict,  and  endeavour  to 
soothe  the  fears  of  their  excited  families,  beseeching  protec 
tion.  That  a  deadly  struggle  is  near  at  hand  no  one  doubts, 
for  men  have  gathered  on  the  house-tops  to  watch  the 
moving  mass,  bearing  on  its  face  the  unmistakeable  evidence 
of  fear  and  anxiety,  as  it  sweeps  along  the  streets.  Now 
the  grotesque  group  is  bespotted  with  forms  half  dressed 
in  military  garb ;  then  a  dark  platoon  of  savage  faces  and 
ragged  figures  brings  up  the  rear ;  and  quickly  catching  the 
sound  "  To  the  Workhouse  !"  onward  it  presses  to  the 
scene  of  tumult.  Firemen  in  curious  habiliment,  and 
half-accoutred  artillerymen,  at  the  alarm  peal's  call  are 
rallying  to  their  stations,  as  if  some  devouring  element, 
about  to  break  over  the  city,  demanded  their  strongest 
arm  ;  while  eager  and  confused  heads,  protruded  from  green, 
masking  shutters,  and  in  terror,  would  know  whither  lies 
the  scene  of  the  outbreak.  Alarm  has  beset  the  little  world, 
which  now  moves  a  medley  of  fear  and  trembling. 

The  clock  in  St.  Michael's  tall  spire  has  just  struck  two, 
as,  in  the  arena  of  the  prison,  Nicholas  is  seen,  halted  in  front 
of  his  little  -band,  calmly  awaiting  the  advance  of  his 
adversaries,  who,  fearing  to  open  the  great  gates,  have 
scaled  the  long  line  of  wall  on  the  north  side.  Suddenly 
the  sound  of  an  imploring  voice  breaks  upon  his  ear,  and 
his  left  hand  is  firmly  grasped,  as  starting  with  surprise  he 
turns  and  beholds  the  slave  woman,  her  hair  hanging 
loosely  over  her  shoulders,  and  her  face  bathed  in  tears.  With 
simple  but  earnest  words  does  she  admonish  him  against 
his  fatal  resolution.  Fast,  and  in  the  bitter  anguish  of  her 
eoul,  fall  her  implorings  ;  she  would  have  him  yield  and 
33 


656  A  CONTINUATION  OF  THE  LAST  CHAPTEE. 

gave  his  life,  that  she  may  love  him  still.     Her  words  would 
melt  his  resolution,  had  he  not  taken  the  rash  step.     "  In 
my   soul    do   I   love   thee,  woman !"  he  says,  raising   her 
gently  to  her  feet,    and  imprinting  a  kiss  upon  her  olive 
brow ;  "  but  rather  would  I  die  a  hero  than  live  a  crawling 
slave :  nay,  I  will  love  thee  in  heaven !' '     The  woman  has 
drawn   his  attention   from  his  adversaries,  when,  in  that 
which  seems  a  propitious  moment,  they  rush  down  from  the 
walls,  and  ere  a  cry  from  his  band  warn  him  of  the  danger, 
have  well  nigh  surprised  and  secured  him.     With  two  shots 
of  a  revolver  pierced  through  the  fleshy  part  of  his  left 
arm,  does  he  bound  from  the  grasp  of  his  pursuers,  rally 
his  men,  and  charge  upon  the  miscreants  with  undaunted 
courage.  Short  but  deadly  is  the  struggle  that  here  ensues ; 
far,  indeed,  shrieks  and  horrid  groans  reiid  the  very  air  ;  but 
the  miscreants  are  driven    back   from   whence  they  came, 
leaving  on  the  ground  five  dead  bodies  to  atone  for  treble 
the   number   dead   of    our    hero's   band.     In   the   savage 
conflict  did  the  woman  receive  a  fatal  bullet,  and  now  lies 
writhing  in  the  agonies  of  death  (a  victim  of  oppression  in 
a  laud  of  liberty)  at  our  hero's  feet.     Not  a   moment   ia 
there  to  spare,  that  he  may  soothe  her  dying  agonies,  for 
a  thundering  at  the  great  gates  is  heard,  the  bristling  of 
fire-arms  falls  upon  his  ear,  and  the  drums  of  the  military 
•without  beat  to  the  charge.     Simultaneously  the  great  gates 
swing  back,  a  solid  body  of  citizen  soldiery,  ready  to  rush  in,  is 
disclosed,  and  our  hero,  as  if  by  instinct  moved  to  rashness, 
cries  aloud   to  his   forces,    who,  following  his   lead,    dash 
recklessly  into  the  soldiery,  scatter  it  in  amazement,  and 
sweep    triumphantly   into   the   street.     The   first    line   of 
soldiery  did   not   yield   to  the  impetuous  charge  without 
eifect,  for  seven  dead  bodies,  strewn  between  the  portals 
of  the  gate,  account  for  the  sharp  report  pf  their  rifles. 
"Wild  with  rage,  and  not  knowing  whither  to  go,  or  for  what 
object  they  have  rushed  from  the  bounds  of  their  prison 
house,    our   forlorn    baud,    still    flourishing    their    battle 
hammers,  have  scarcely  reached  the  second  line  of  military, 
stationed,  in  war   order,   a  few  squares  from   the   prison, 
when  our  hero  and  nine  of  his  forlorn  band  fall  pierced 
through  the  hearts  with  rifle  bullets.     Our  Nicholas  has 
a   sudden  end ;  he  dies,  muttering,  "  My  cause  was  only 
justice!"   as  twenty  democratic  bayonets  cut  into  shreda 


JL  CONTINUATION  OP  THE  LAST  CHAPTEE.  557 

his  quivering  body.  Oh,  Grabguy !  thou  wilt  one  day  be 
made  to  atone  for  this  thy  guilt.  Justice  to  thy  slave  had 
saved  the  city  its  foreboding  of  horror,  and  us  the  recital 
of  a  bloody  tragedy  we  would  spare  the  feelings  of  our 
readers  by  ending  here. 

Having  informed  the  reader  that  Ellen  Juvarna  was 
mother  of  Nicholas,  whom  she  bore  unto  Marston,  we  will 
now  draw  aside  the  veil,  that  he  may  know  her  real  origin 
and  be  the  better  prepared  to  appreciate  the  fate  of 
her  child.  This  name,  then,  was  a  fictitious  one,  which 
she  had  been  compelled  to  take  by  Romescos,  who  stole  her 
from  her  father,  Neamathla,  a  Creek  Indian.  In  1820,  this 
brave  warrior  ruled  chief  of  the  Mickasookees,  a  tribe  of 
brave  Indians  settled  on  the  borders  of  the  lake  of  that 
name,  in  Florida.  Old  in  deeds  of  valour,  Neamathla  sank 
into  the  grave  in  the  happy  belief  that  his  daughter,  the 
long-lost  JSFasarge,  had  been  carried  into  captivity  by  chiefs 
of  a  hostile  tribe,  in  whose  chivalrous  spirit  she  would  find 
protection,  and  religious  respect  for  her  caste.  Could  that 
proud  spirit  have  condescended  to  suppose  her  languishing 
in  the  hands  of  mercenary  slave-dealers,  his  tomahawk  had 
been  first  dipped  in  the  blood  of  the  miscreant,  to  avenge 
the  foul  deed.  From  Romescos,  jSTasarge,  who  had  scarce 
seen  her  twelve  summers,  passed  into  the  hands  of  one 
Silenus,  who  sold  her  to  Marston,  for  that  purpose  a  fair 
slave  seems  born  to  in  our  democratic  world. 

And  now  again  must  we  beg  the  indulgence  of  the  read 
er,  while  we  turn  to  the  counter-scene  of  this  chapter.  The 
influence  of  that  consternation  which  had  spread  throughout 
the  city,  was  not  long  in  finding  its  way  to  the  citadel,  a 
massive  fort  commanding  the  city  from  the  east.  On  the 
plat  in  front  are  three  brass  field-pieces,  which  a  few  artillery 
men  have  wheeled  out,  loaded,  and  made  ready  to  belch  forth 
that  awful  signal,  which  the  initiated  translate  thus  : — "  Proceed 
to  the  massacre !  Dip  deep  your  knives  in  the  heart  of  ev 
ery  negro  !  "*  At  the  alarm-bell's  first  tap  were  the  guns  made 

*  Certain  alarm  bells  are  rung  in  case  of  an  insurrection  of  the 
negroes,  which,  if  accompanied  by  the  firing  of  three  guns  at  the 
citadel,  is  the  signal  for  un  onslaught  of  the  whites.  The  author,  on 
asking  a  gentleman  why  he  exhibited  so  much  fear,  or  why  he  deemed 
it  necessary  to  put  to  the  sword  his  faithful  servants,  answered,— 
"  Slrves,  no  matter  of  what  colour,  sympathise  with  each  other  ill 


658  A  CONTINUATION  O?  THE  LAST  CHAPTER. 

ready — at  the  second  peal  were  matchlocks  lighted — and 
nervous  men  waited  in  breathless  suspense  the  third  and  last 
signal  peal  from  the  Guard  Tower.  But,  in  a  moment  that 
had  nearly  proved  fatal  to  thousands,  and  as  the  crash  of 
musketry  echoed  in  the  air,  a  confused  giinner  applied  the 
match :  two  vivid  flashes  issued  from  the  cannon,  their  peals 
booming  successively  over  the  city.  It  was  at  that  moment, 
citizens  who  had  sought  in  their  domiciles  the  better  pro 
tection  of  their  families  might  be  seen  in  the  tragic  attitude 
of  holding  savage  pistols  and  glistening  daggers  at  the 
breasts  of  their  terrified  but  faithful  servants,— those, 
perhaps,  whose  only  crime  was  sincerity,  and  an  earnest 
attachment  to  master's  interests.  The  booming  of  a  third 
cannon,  and  they  had  fallen,  victims  of  fear,  at  the  feet  of 
their  deluded  victors.  Happily,  an  act  of  heroism  (which 
we  would  record  to  the  fame  of  the  hero)  saved  the  city 
that  bloody  climax  we  sicken  while  contemplating.  Ere  the 
third  gun  belched  its  order  of  death,  a  mounted  officer, 
sensible  of  the  result  that  gun  would  produce,  dashed 
before  its  angry  mouth,  and  at  the  top  of  his  voice  cried 
out — "  In  Heaven's  name,  lay  your  matchlock  down : 
save  the  city !"  Then  galloping  to  the  trail,  the  gunner 
standing  motionless  at  the  intrepid  sight,  he  snatched  the 
fiery  torch  from  his  hand,  and  dismounting,  quenched  it  on 
the  ground.  Thus  did  he  save  the  city  that  awful  massacre 
the  misdirected  laws  of  a  democratic  state  would  have  been 
accountable  for  to  civilisation  and  the  world. 

their  general  condition  of  slavery.  I  could  not,  then,  leave  my  fam 
ily  to  the  caprice  of  their  feelings,  while  I  sought  the  scene  of  action 
to  aid  in  suppressing  the  outbreak." 


CHAPTER  LII. 

IN  WHICH  ARE  PLEASURES  AND  DISAPPOINTMENTS. 

IN   a   former   chapter .  of   this    narrative,    have   we   described 
our.   fair    fugitive,  Annette,    as   possessing  charms  of  no 
ordinary  kind ;  indeed,  she  was  fair  and  beautiful,  and  even 
in  the  slave  world  was  by  many  called  the  lovely  blonde. 
In  a  word,  to  have  been  deeply  enamoured  of  her  would 
have  reflected  the  highest  credit  on  the  taste   and   senti 
ment  of  any  gallant  gentleman.     Seeming  strange  would  it 
be,  then,  if  the  stranger  to  whose  care  we  confided  her  (and 
hereafter  to  be  called  Montague,  that  being  his  Christian 
name)    should    render    himself   liable    to   the   charge   of 
stupidity  did  these  attractions  not  make  a  deep  impression 
on  his  heart.     And  here  we  would  not  have  the  reader  lay 
so  grave  a  charge  at  his  door ;  for,  be  it  knownj  ye  who 
are  not  insensible  to  love's  electric  force,  that  scarce  had 
they  reached  New  York,  ere  Montague  began  to  look  upon 
Annette  with  that  species  of  compassion  which  so  often,  in 
the  workings  of  nature's  mystery,  turns  the  sympathies  of 
the  heart  into  purest  love.     The  misery  or  happiness  of  this 
poor  girl  he  viewed  as  dependent  on  himself:  this,  forsooth, 
was  strengthened  by  the  sad  recital  of  her  struggles,  whicli 
caused  his  sympathies  to  flow  in  mutual  fellowship  with  her 
sorrows.     As  he  esteemed  her  gentleness,  so  was  he  ena 
moured  of  her  charms ;  but  her  sorrows  carried,  the  captive 
arrow  into  his  bosom,  where  she  fastened  it  with  holding 
forth  that  wrist  broken  in  defence  of  her  virtue  :  nay^more, 
he  could  not  refrain  a  caress,  as  in  the  simplicity  of  her 
heart  she  looked  in  his  face  smilingly,  and  said  she  would 
he  were  the  father  of  her  future  in  this  life.     But,  when 
did  not   slavery  interpose  its   barbarous   obstacles  ? — when 
did  it  not  claim  for  itself  the  interests  of  federal  power,  and 
the  nation's    indulgence  ? — when  did   it  not   regard  with 
coldest  indifference  the  good  or  ill  of  all  beyond  its  own 
limits  ?     The  slave  world  loves  itself;  but,  though  self-lovo 
may  now  and  then  give  out  a  degree  of  virtue,  slavery  has 


560  PLEASURES  AND  DISAPPOINTMENTS. 

none  to  lead  those  beyond  its  own  atmosphere.  To  avoid,  then, 
the  terrors  to  which,  even  on  the  free  soil  of  the  north,  a  fugi 
tive  slave  is  constantly  liable,  as  also  that  serpent-like  prejudice 
— for  into  the  puritanic  regions  of  New  England,  forsooth,  does 
slavery  spread  its  more  refined  objections  to  colour — which  makes 
the  manners  of  one  class  cold  and  icy,  while  acting  like  a  dagger  in 
the  hearts  of  the  other,  was  it  necessary  to  change  her  name. 
How  many  of  my  fair  readers,  then,  will  recur  to  and  recog 
nise  in  the  lovely  Sylvia  De  Lacy — whose  vivacity  made 
them  joyous  in  their  school  days,  and  whose  charms  all  envied 
— the  person  of  Annette  Mazatlin.  Nothing  could  be  more 
true  than  that  the  pretty  blonde,  Sylvia  De  Lacy,  who  passed 
at  school  as  the  daughter  of  a  rich  Bahamian,  was  but  the  hum 
ble  slave  of  our  worthy  wag,  Mr.  Pringle  Blowers,  But  we 
beg  the  reader  to  remember  that,  as  Sylvia  De  Lacy,  with  her 
many  gallant  admirers,  she  is  a  far  different  person  from  Annette 
the  slave. 

Clotilda  is  made  acquainted  with  the  steps  Montague  has 
taken  in  behalf  of  his  charge,  as  also  of  a  further  intention 
he  will  carry  out  at  the  expiration  of  two  years ;  which  said 
intention  is  neither  more  nor  less  than  the  making  Sylvia 
De  Lacy  his  bride  ere  her  school  days  have  ended.  In  the 
earnestness  of  a  heart  teeming  of  joy,  does  Clotilda  respond 
to  the  disclosures  she  is  pleased  to  term  glad  tidings.  Oft 
and  fervently  has  she  invoked  the  All-protecting  hand  to 
save  her  child  from  the  licentious  snares  of  slavery ;  and 
now  that  she  is  rescued,  her  soul  can  rest  satisfied.  How 
her  heart  rejoices  to  learn  that  her  slave  child  will  hereafter 
be  happy  in  this  life !  ever  will  she  pray  that  peace  and 
prosperity  reward  their  virtues.  Her  own  prospects  brighten 
with  the  thought  that  she  may,  ere  long,  see  them  under  her 
own  comfortable  roof,  and  bestow  a  mother's  love  on  the 
head  of  her  long-lost  child. 

And  now  my  reader  will  please  to  suppose  these  two 
years  of  school-days  passed — that  nuptial  ceremony  iu 
which  so  many  mingled  their  congratulations,  and  showered 
blandest  smiles  upon  the  fair  bride,  celebrated  in  a  princely 
mansion  not  far  from  the  aristocratic  Union  Square  of  New 
York — and  our  happy  couple  launched  upon  that  path  of 
matrimony  some  facetious  old  gentlemen  have  been  pleased 
to  describe  as  so  crooked  that  others  fear  to  journey  upon 


PLEASUBES  AND  DISAPPOINTMENTS. 


561 


it.  They  were  indeed  a  happy  couple,  with  each  future 
prospect  golden  of  fortune's  sunshine.  Did  we  describe  in 
detail  the  reign  of  happiness  portended  on  the  bright  day  of 
that  nuptial  ceremony,  how  many  would  recognise  the  gay 
figures  of  those  who  enlivened  the  scene — how  deceptive 
would  seem  the  fair  face  of  events — how  obscured  would 
be  presented  the  life  of  a  slave  in  this  our  world  of  freedom — 
how  false  that  democracy  so  boastful  of  its  even-handed 
rule ! 

Two  years  have  rolled  into  the  past,  since  Montague  led 
the  fair  Sylvia  to  the  altar.  Pringle  Blowers  has  pocketed 
the  loss  of  his  beauty,  the  happy  couple  have  lost  all  thought 
of  slavery,  and  a  little  responsibility  coming  iu  due  time 
adds  to  make  their  happiness  complete.  Now  the  house 
to  which  Montague  was  connected  in  New  York  had  an  agent 
in  New  Orleans  ;  which  agent  was  his  brother.  In  the  course 
of  time,  then,  and  as  the  avenues  of  business  expanded,  was 
it  deemed  necessary  to  establish  a  branch  house  at  Memphis, 
the  affairs  of  which  it  was  agreed  should  be  conducted  by 
Montague.  To  this  new  scene  of  life  my  reader  will  please 
suppose  our  happy  couple,  having  journeyed  by  railroad  to 
Cincinnatti,  and  with  hearts  gladdened  of  hope  for  the 
future,  now  gliding  down  that  river  of  gorgeous  banks,  on 


board  the  good  steamer  bearing  its  name.     As  our  young 
mother  again  enters  ithe  atmosphere  of  slavery,  misgivings 


662        PLEABUEES  AND  DISAPPOINTMENTS. 

force  themselves  irresistibly  upon  her  feelings.  The  very 
face  of  nature  wears  a  sluggish  air;  the  fresh,  bright 
offspring  of  northern  energy,  so  forcibly  illustrated  in  the 
many  cheerful  looking  villages  here  and  there  dotting  its 
free  soil,  is  nowhere  to  be  seen, — society  again  puts  forth  its 
blighting  distinctions :  there  is  the  man-owner's  iron 
deportment  contrasting  with  the  abjectness  of  his  slave : 
forcibly  does  the  change  recall  scenes  of  the  past.  But, 
with  the  certain  satisfaction  that  no  one  will  recognise  the 
slave  in  her,  do  those  misgivings  give  way  to  the  happier 
contemplation  of  her  new  home  affording  the  means  of 
extending  a  succouring  hand  to  some  poor  mortal,  suffering 
in  that  condition  of  life  through  which  she  herself  has 
passed. 

After  a  pleasant  passage,  then,  do  we  find  them  comfort 
ably  settled  in  Memphis,  that  city  of  notorious  character, 
where  the  venerable  Lynch  presides  judge  over  all  state 
cases,  and  administers  summary  justice  according  to  the 
most  independent  of  bar  rules.  Montague  pursues  the  ordi 
nary  routine  of  a  flourishing  business,  and  moves  among 
the  very  best  society  of  the  little  fashionable  wrorld;  with 
which  his  Sylvia,  being  the  fair  belle  of  the  place,  is  not 
only  a  great  favourite,  but  much  sought  after  and  caressed. 
Gentle  as  a  slave,  so  was  she  an  affectionate  mother  and 
dutiful  wife.  Some  twelve  mouths  passed  pleasantly  at  their 
new  home,  when  there  came  to  the  city  a  Jew  of  the  name 
of  Salamons  Finch.  This  Finch,  who  was  "runner"  to  a 
commercial  firm  in  the  city  of  Charleston  (he  was  lank 
of  person,  with  sallow,  craven  features),  knew  Annette 
when  but  a  child.  Indeed,  he  was  a  clerk  of  Graspum 
when  that  gentleman  sold  the  fair  slave  to  Grurdoin 
Choicewest ;  in  addition  to  which  he  had  apartments  at 
Lady  Tuttlewell's  most  fashionable  house,  where  the  little 
doll-like  thing  used  to  be  BO  sprightly  in  waiting  at  table. 
The  quick  eye  of  this  harpy,  as  may  readily  be  supposed, 
was  not  long  in  detecting  the  person  of  Annette  the  slave  in 
our  fair  mother ;  which  grand  discovery  he  as  soon  communica 
ted  to  Montague,  pluming  himself  a  generous  fellow  for  being 
first  to  disclose  what  he  supposed  a  valuable  secret.  Indeed, 
such  was  the  force  of  association  on  this  fellow,  that  he  could 
not  bring  his  mind  to  believe  such  a  match  possible,  unless  the 
fair  fugitive — of  the  circumstances  of  whose  escape  he  was 


PLEASURES  AND  DISAPPOINTMENTS.        563 

well  posted)  had,  by  the  exercise  of  strategy,  imposed 
herself  on  the  gentleman.  The  reader  may  easily  picture 
to  himself  the  contempt  in  which  Montague  held  the  fellow's 
generous  expose ;  but  he  as  readily  became  sensible  of  the 
nature  of  the  recognition,  and  of  its  placing  him  in  a  dan 
gerous  position.  At  first  he  thought  of  sending  his  wife 
and  child  immediately  to  her  mother,  in  Nassau ;  but 
having  intimations  from  the  fellow  that  the  matter  might 
be  reconciled  with  golden  eagles,  he  chose  rather  to  adopt 
that  plan  of  procuring  peace  and  quietness.  With  a  goodly 
number  of  these  gold  eagles,  then,  did  he  from  time  to  time 
purchase  the  knave's  secrecy;  but,  with  that  singular  propen 
sity  so  characteristic  of  the  race,  was  he  soon  found  making 
improper  advances  to  the  wife  of  the  man  whose  money  he 
received 'for  keeping  secret  her  early  history.  This  so  exas 
perated  Montague,  that  in  addition  to  sealing  the  fellow's 
lips  with  the  gold  coin,  he  threatened  his  back  with  stripes 
of  the  raw  hide,  in  payment  of  his  insolence.  Albeit, 
nothing  but  the  fear  of  exposure,  the  consequences  of  which 
must  prove  fatal,  caused  him  to  bear  with  pain  the  insult 
while  withholding  payment  of  this  well-merited  debt.  With 
keen  instincts,  and  a  somewhat  cultivated  taste  for  the 
beautiful,  Finch  might  with  becoming  modesty  have 
pleaded  them  in  extenuation  of  his  conduct ;  but  the 
truth  was,  he  almost  unconsciously  found  himself  deeply 
enamoured  of  the  fair  woman,  without  being  able  to  look 
upon  her  as  a  being  elevated  above  that  menial  sphere  his 
vulgar  mind  conditioned  for  her  when  in  slavery.  Here,  then, 
the  reader  will  more  readily  conceive  than  we  can  describe 
the  grievous  annoyances  our  otherwise  happy  couple  were 
subjected  to ;  nor,  if  a  freeman's  blood  course  in  his  veins, 
can  he  fail  to  picture  the  punishment  it  so  dearly  merited. 
However,  it  came  to  pass  that  in  the  course  of  a  few 
months  this  fellow  disappeared  suddenly,  and  nearly  at  the 
same  time  was  Montague  summoned  to  New  Orleans  to 
direct  some  complicated  affairs  of  his  brother,  who  lay  a 
victim  to  that  fearful  scourge  which  so  often  devastates  that 
city  of  balmy  breezes.  After  due  preparations  for  an 
absence  of  some  two  months,  Montague  set  out  on  his 
journey ;  but  had  riot  been  forty-eight  hours  gone,  when 
Pinch  again  made  his  appearance,  and  taking  advantage 
of  a  hus band's  absence,  pressed  his  advances  with  grossest 


564         PLEASUEES  AND  DISAPPOINTMENTS. 

insult,  threatening  at  the  same  time  to  convey  information 
of  the  discovery  to  Pringle  Blowers.  Successively  did  these 
importunities  fail  to  effect  Mr.  Pinch's  purpose ;  but  he  was 
of  an  indomitable  temper,  and  had  strong  faith  in  that 
maxim  of  his  race,  which  may  be  transcribed  thus :  — "  If 
one  effort  fail  you,  try  another."  To  carry  out  this  prin 
ciple,  then,  did  Finch  draw  from  the  cunning  inventive  of 
his  brain  .a  plan  which  he  could  not  doubt  for  a  moment 
would  be  successful.  The  reader  may  blush  while  we 
record  the  fact,  of  Pinch,  deeming  a  partner  necessary  to 
the  gaining  his  purpose,  finding  a  willing  accomplice  in  one 
of  Montague's  clerks,  to  whom  he  disclosed  the  secret  of  the 
fair  woman  being  nothing  more  than  a  fugitive  slave,  whose 
shame  they  would  share  if  the  plan  proved  successful. 
This  ingenious  plan,  so  old  that  none  but  a  fellotv  of  this 
stamp  would  have  adopted  it,  was  nothing  more  than  the 
intercepting  by  the  aid  of  the  clerk  all  Montague's  letters 
to  his  wife.  By  this  they  came  in  possession  of  the  nature 
of  his  family  affairs ;  and  after  permitting  the  receipt  of 
two  letters  by  Sylvia,  possessed  themselves  of  her  answers 
that  they  might  be  the  better  able  to  carry  out  the 
evil  of  their  scheme.  After  sufficient  time  had  passed, 
did  Sylvia  receive  a  letter,  duly  posted  at  New  Orleans, 
purporting  to  have  been  written  by  a  clerk  in  the 
employ  of  the  firm,  an.d  informing  her,  having  acknow 
ledged  becomingly  the  receipt  of  her  letter,  that  Montague 
had  been  seized  with  the  epidemic,  and  now  lay  in  a  pre 
carious  state.  Much  concerned  was  she  at  the  painful 
intelligence ;  but  she  almost  as  soon  found  consolation  in 
the  assurances  of  the  clerk  who  brought  her  the  letter, 
and,  to  strengthen  his  own  cause,  told  her  he  had  seen 
a  captain  just  arrived  up,  who  had  met  her  husband  a  day 
after  the  date  of  the  letter,  quite  well.  Indeed,  this  was  ne 
cessary  to  that  functionary's  next  move,  for  he  was  the 
conspirator  of  Pinch,  and  the  author  of  the  letter  which 
had  caused  so  much  sadness  to  the  woman  who  now 
sought  his  advice.  In  suspense  did  the  anxious  woman 
wait  the  coming  tidings  of  her  affectionate  husband  :  alas  ! 
in  a  few  days  was  the  sad  news  of  his  death  by  the 
fatal  scourge  brought  to  her  in  an  envelope  with  broad 
black  border  and  appropriate  seal.  Overwhelmed  with 
grief,  the  good  woman  read  the  letter,  describing  her 


PLEASURES  AND  DISAPPOINTMENTS.  565 

Montague  to  have  died  happy,  as  the  conspirator  looked  on  with 
indifference.  The  confidential  clerk  of  the  firm  had  again  per 
formed  a  painful  and  unexpected  duty.  The  good  man  died, 
said  he,  invoking  a  blessing  on  the  head  of  his  child,  and  asking 
heaven  to  protect  his  wife ;  to  which  he  would  add,  that  the  af 
fairs  of  the  house  were  in  the  worst  possible  condition,  there  not 
being  assets  to  pay  a  fraction  of  the  debts.  And  here  we  would 
beg  the  reader  to  use  his  imagination,  and  save  us  the  descrip 
tion  of  much  that  followed.  Not  all  their  threats  nor  persua 
sions,  however,  could  induce  her  to  yield  to  their  designs ;  defi 
antly  did  she  repulse  the  advances  of  the  crawling  Finch ;  nobly 
did  she  spurn  his  persuasions ;  firmly  did  she,  heedless  of  his 
threat  to  acquaint  Pringle  Blowers  of  her  whereabouts,  bid  him 
be  gone  from  her  door.  The  fellow  did  go,  grievously  disap 
pointed  ;  and,  whether  from  malice  or  mercenary  motives  we 
will  not  charge,  sought  and  obtained  from  Pringle  Blowers,  in 
exchange  for  his  valuable  discovery,  a  promise  of  the  original 
reward.  Shudder  not,  reader,  while  we  tell  it !  It  was  not 
many  days  ere  the  notorious  Blowers  set  out  for  Memphis,  re 
covered  his  lost  property,  who,  like  a  lamb  panting  in  the  grasp 
of  a  pursuing  wrolf,  was,  with  her  young  child,  dragged  back,  a 
wretch,  into  the  melancholy  waste  of  slavery.  Long  and  loudly 
was  the  grand  discovery  resounded  through  the  little  world  of 
Memphis ;  not  in  sympathy  for  the  slave,  for  many  hearts  were 
made  glad  with  joy  over  what  the  fashionable  were  pleased  to 
term  a  fortunate  disclosure  and  a  happy  removal.  Many  very 
grave  gentlemen  said  the  miscreant  who  dared  impose  a  slave 
on  society,  well  merited  punishment  at  the  hands  of  the  venera 
ble  Lynch, — a  judge  of  that  city  whose  celebrity  is  almost  world 
wide. 


CHAPTER  LIII. 

A  FAMILIAR  SCENB,  IN  WHICH  PRINGLE  BLOWERS  HAS  BUSINESS. 

OP  a  bright  morning,  not  many  days  after  Pringle 
Blowers  returned  with  his  fair  slave  to  Charleston  (which 
said  slave  he  would  not  sell  for  gold),  there  sat  on  a 
little  bench  at  the  entrance  gate  of  the  "  upper  workhouse," 
the  brusque  figure  of  a  man,  whose  coarse  and  firmly  knit 
frame,  to  which  were  added  hard  and  weather-stained 
features,  indicated  his  having  seen  some  fifty  summers. 
But,  if  he  was  brusque  of  figure  and  coarse  of  deportment, 
he  had  a  good  soft  heart  in  the  right  place ;  nor  did  he 
fail  to  exercise  its  virtues  while  pursuing  the  duties  of 
a  repulsive  profession  ;  albeit,  he  was  keeper  of  the 
establishment,  and  superintended  all  punishments.  Leisurely 
he  smoked  of  a  black  pipe ;  and  with  shirt  sleeves  rolled 
up,  a  grey  felt  hat  almost  covering  his  dark,  flashing  eyes,  and 
his  arms  easily  folded,  did  he  seem  contemplating  the  calm, 
loveliness  of  morning.  Now  he  exhaled  the  curling  fume, 
then  scanned  away  over  the  bright  landscape  to  the  east,  and 
again  cast  curious  glances  up  and  down  the  broad  road 
stretching  in  front  of  his  prison  to  the  north  and  south. 
It  was  not  long  before  a  carriage  and  pair  appeared  on  the 
hill  to  the  south,  advancing  at  a  slow  pace  towards  the  city. 
The  keeper's  keen  eye  rested  upon  it  intently,  as  it  neared, 
bearing  in  a  back  seat  what  seemed  to  be  a  lady  fine  of 
figure  and  deportment ;  while  on  the  front  drove  a  figure  of 
great  rotundity,  the  broad,  full  face  shining  out  like  a  ripe 
pumpkin  in  a  sun  shower.  "  It's  Pringle  Blowers,  I  do 
believe  in  my  soul!  but  it's  seeming  strange  how  he's  got 
a  lady  to  ride  with  him,"  mused  the  man,  who,  still 
watching  the  approach,  had  quite  forgotten  the  escape  of 
the  fair  slave.  The  man  was  not  mistaken,  for  as  he 
touched  his  hat,  on  the  carriage  arriving  opposite  the  gate, 
it  halted,  and  there,  sure  enough,  was  our  valiant  democrat, 
who,  placing  his  whip  in  the  socket,  crooked  his  finger  and 


A  FAMILIAK  SCENE.  567 

beckoned  the  keeper.  "  Broadman !"  said  he,  (for  that  was 
the  man's  name)  I'ze  a  bit  of  something  in  your  way  of 
business  this  morning."  The  honest  functionary,  with 
seeming  surprise,  again  touching  his  hat  as  he  approached 
the  vehicle,  replied:  "Tour  servant,  sir!"  Blowers 
motioned  his  hand  to  the  woman,  whose  tears  were  now,  to 
Broadman's  surprise,  seen  coursing  down  her  pale  cheeks. 
To  use  a  vulgar  phrase, Broadman  was  entirely  "  taken  aback" 
by  the  singularity  of  Blowers'  manner ;  for  the  woman, 
whose  dress  and  deportment  the  honest  man  conceived  to 
be  nothing  less  than  that  of  a  lady  cf  one  of  the  "  first 
families,"  obeying  the  motion,  began  to  descend  from  the 
carriage.  "  Now,  Broadman,"  continued  Blowers,  arranging 
his  reins,  and  with  clumsy  air  making  Ins  descent  over  the 
fore  wheels,  take  that  'ar  wench  o'  mine,  and,  by  the  State's 
custom,  give  her  the  extent  of  the  law,  well  laid  on."*  The 
man  hesitated,  as  if  doubting  his  senses ;  rather  would  he 
have  been  courteous  to  what  he  still  viewed  as  a  lady,  than 
extend  his  rude  hand  to  lead  her  away, 

"  Pardon  me,  Sir !  but  you  cannot  mean  what  you  say," 
nervously  spoke  the  man,  as  in  doubt  he  exchanged  glances 
first  with  the  fair  woman  and  then  with  Blowers.  "I  means 
just  what  I  says,"  returned  that  gentleman,  peremptorily  ; 
"  you'ze  hearn  o'  that  'un  afore.  She's  a  nigger  o'  mine,  what 
ruuned  away  more  nor  six  years  ago ;  come,  do  the  job  for 
her,  and  no  fussing  over't."  "Nigger!"  interrupted  the 
man,  in  surprise.  "  Yes  !"  rejoined  Blowers,  emphasising 
his  assurance  with  oaths,  of  which  he  had  a  never-failing 
supply,  "that's  the  cussed  white  nigger  what's  gin  me  all  the 
bother.  The  whiter  niggers  is,  the  more  devil 's  in  em  ;  and 
that  ar'  one's  got  devil  enough  for  a  whole  plantation  ;  'tisn't 
the  licks  I  cares  about,  but  it's  the  humblin'  on  her  feelings 
by  being  punished  in  the  workhouse  !"  The  man  of  duty 
was  now  brought  to  his  senses,  when,  seeing  Blowers  was 
inclined  to  relieve  his  anger  on  what  he  was  pleased  to  consider 
the  stupidity  of  a  keeper,  he  took  the  weeping  but  resolute 
woman  by  the  arm,  and  called  a  negro  attendant,  into  whose 
charge  he  handed  her, with  an  order  to  "  put  her  in  the  slings." 
Soon  she  disappeared  within  the  gate,  following  the  mulatto 
man.  And  here  we  will  again  spare  the  reader's  feelings,  by 

*  The  author  here  writes  the  incident  as  given  by  the  prison-keeper. 


668  A  FAMILIAS  SCENE,  IN  WHICH 

omitting  much  that  followed.  Blowers  and  Broadman 
follow  the  hapless  woman,  as  she  proceeds  through  a  narrow 
passage  leading  to  the  punishment  room,  and  when  about 
half  way  to  that  place  of  torture,  a  small,  square  door  opens 
on  the  right,  into  a  dingy  office,  the  keeper  says  is  where  he 
keeps  his  accounts  with  the  State,  which  derives  a  large 
revenue  from  the  punishments.  Into  this  does  the  worthy 
man  invite  his  patron,  whom  he  would  have  be  seated  while 
the  criminal  is  got  "  all  right"  in  the  slings.  Fain  would 
Blowers  go  and  attend  the  business  himself;  but  Broadman 
saying  "  that  cannot  be,"  he  draws  from  his  pocket  a  small 
flask,  and,  seemingly  contented,  invites  him  to  join  in 
"  somethin"  he  says  is  the  very  choicest.  Broadman  has  no 
objection  to  encouraging  this  evidence  of  good  feeling,  which  he 
will  take  advantage  of  to  introduce  the  dialogue  that  follows. 
"  G-ood  sir,"  says  he,  "you  will  pardon  what  I  am  about  to 
say,  for  indeed  I  feel  the  weakness  of  my  position  when 
addressing  you,  fortune  having  made  a  wide  distinction 
between  us  ;  but  judge  me  not  because  I  am  coarse  of  flesh, 
nor  have  polished  manners,  for  I  have  a  heart  that  feels 
for  the  unfortunate."  Here  Blowers  interrupted  the 
keeper  by  saying  he  would  hear  no  chicken-hearted  inter 
positions.  "  .Remember,  keeper,"  he  added,  "you  must  not 
presume  on  the  small  familiarity  I  have  condescended  to 
admit  in  drinking  with  you.  I  hold  no  controversies  with 
prison-keepers  (again  he  gulps  his  brandy)  or  their  subs ; 
being  a  servant  of  the  state,  1  order  you  to  give  that  wench 
the  extent  of  the  law.  She  shall  disclose  the  secret  of  her 
escape,  or  I'll  have  her  life  ;  I'm  a  man  what  won't  stand  no 
nonsense,  I  am !"  The  keeper,  rejoining,  hopes  he  will 
pardon  the  seeming  presumption ;  but,  forsooth,  notwith 
standing  necessity  has  driven  him  to  seek  a  livelihood  in  his 
repulsive  occupation,  there  is  a  duty  of  the  heart  he  cannot 
betray,  though  the  bread  of  his  maintenance  be  taken  from 
him.  Blowers  again  assumes  his  dignity,  rises  from  his 
seat,  scowls  significantly  at  the  keeper,  and  says  he  will  go 
put  through  the  business  with  his  own  hands.  "  Good 
friend,"  says  Broadman,  arresting  Blowers'  progress,  by  the 
state's  ruling  you  are  my  patron ;  nevertheless,  within  these 
walls  I  am  master,  and  whatever  you  may  bring  here  for 
punishment  shall  have  the  benefit  of  my  discretion.  I  loathe 
the  law  that  forces  me  to,  in  such  cases,  overrule  the  admo- 


PBINQLE  BLOWEES  HAS  BUSINESS.  569 

nitions  of  my  heart.  I,  sir,  am  low  of  this  world, — good!  but, 
in  regret  do  I  say  it,  I  have  by  a  slave  mother  two  fair 
daughters,  who  in  the  very  core  of  my  heart  I  love ;  nor 
would  I,  imitating  the  baser  examples  of  our  aristocracy, 
sell  them  hapless  outcasts  for  life."  Here  Blowers 
again  interrupted  by  allowing  his  passion  to  manifest  itself 
in  a  few  very  fashionable  oaths  ;  to  which  he  added,  that  he 
(pacing  the  room  several  times)  would  no  longer  give  ear  to 
such  nonsense  from  a  man  of  Broadman's  position, — which 
was  neither  socially  nor  politically  grand.  "  No  doubt, 
good  sir,  my  humble  and  somewhat  repulsive  calling  does 
not  meet  your  distinguished  consideration ;  but  I  am, 
nevertheless,  a  man.  And  what  I  was  about  to  say — I  hope 
you  will  grant  me  a  hearing — was,  that  having  these  two 
daughters — poverty  only  prevents  my  purchasing  them— has 
made  me  sensible  of  these  slaves  having  delicate  textures.  The 
unhappy  possession  of  these  daughters  has  caused  me  to 
reflect — to  study  constitutions,  and  their  capacity  to  endure 
punishments.  The  woman  it  has  pleased  y  ou  to  bring  here  for 
chastisement,  I  take  it,  is  not  coarse  of  flesh  ;  but  is  one  of 
those  unfortunates  whom  kindness  might  reform,  while  the 
lash  never  fails  to  destroy.  Why,  then,  not  consider  her  in 
the  light  of  a  friendless  wretch,  whom  it  were  better  to  save, 
than  sink  in  shame  ?  One  word  more  and  I  am  done  (Blowers 
was  about  to  cut  short  the  conversation)  ;  the  extent  of  the 
law  being  nothing  less  than  twenty  blows  of  the  paddle,  is 
most  severe  punishment  for  a  woman  of  fine  flesh  to  with 
stand  on  her  naked  loins.  Nor,  let  me  say — and  here  I 
speak  from  twelve  years'  experience — can  the  lady — I  beg 
pardon,  the  slave  you  bring  me  ! — bear  these  blows  :  no,  my 
lips  never  spoke  truer  when  I  say  she'li.quiver  and  sink  in 
spasms  ere  the  second  blow  is  laid  on."  Here — some  twenty 
minutes  having  passed  since  the  fair  slave  was  led  into  the 
punishment  room — Blowers  cut  short  the  conversation  which 
had  failed  to  thaw  his  resolution,  by  saying  Broadman  had 
bored  his  ears  in  spinning  out  his  long  song,  and  if  he  were 
unwilling  to  fulfil  the  duties  of  his  office,  such  should  be 
reported  to  the  authorities,  who  would  not  permit  workhouse- 
keepers  so  to  modify  their  ordnances  that  black  and  white 
niggers  have  different  punishments.  ''Nay,  sir!"  says  the 
honest  man,  with  an  air  of  earnestness,  as  lie  rises  from  his 
seat ;  "  follow  me,  and  with  the  reality  will  I  prove  the  truth 


570  A  FAMILIAB  SCENE,  IN  WHICH 

of  my  words."  Here  he  proceeds  to  that  place  of  torments, 
the  punishment-room,  followed  by  Blowers ;  who  says,  with 
singular  indifference — "  Can  do  the  job  in  five  minutes  :  then 
I'll  leave  her  with  you  for  two,  three,  or  four  days  or  so. 
Then  if  she's  civilly  humbled  down,  I'll  send  my  nigger 
fellow,  Joe,  with  an  order  for  her.  Joe' 11  be  the  fellow's 
name  ;  now,  mind  that :  but  you  know  my  Joe,  I  reckon  ?" 
The  keeper  led  the  way,  but  made  no  reply  ;  for  indeed  he 
knew  nothing  of  his  Joe,  there  being  innumerable  niggers 
of  that  name.  As  the  men  left  the  little  office,  and  were 
sauntering  up  the  passage,  our  worthy  friend  Rosebrook 
might  be  seen  entering  in  search  of  Broadman ;  when, 
discovering  Blowers  in  his  company,  and  hearing  the  signi 
ficant  words,  he  shot  into  a  niche,  unobserved  by  them,  and 
calling  a  negro  attendant,  learned  the  nature  of  his  visit. 
And  here  it  becomes  necessary  that  we  discover  to  the 
reader  the  fact  of  Eosebrook  having  been  apprised  of  the 
forlorn  woman's  return,  and  her  perilous  position  in  the 
hands  of  Pringle  Blowers  ;  and,  further,  that  the  communi 
cation  was  effected  by  the  negro  man  Pompe,  who  we  have 
before  described  in  connection  with  Montague  at  the  time 
of  his  landing  from  the  witch-like  schooner.  This  Pompe  was 
sold  to  Blowers  but  a  few  months  before  Annette's  recovery, 
and  acting  upon  the  force  of  that  sympathy  which  exists 
among  fellow  slaves  of  a  plantation,  soon  renewed  old 
acquaintance,  gained  her  confidence,  and,  cunningly  eluding 
the  owner's  watchfulness,  conveyed  for  her  a  letter  to  the 
Kosebrooks.  In  truth,  Pompe  had  an  inveterate  hatred  of 
Blowers,  and  under  the  incitement  would  not  have  hesitated 
to  stake  his  life  in  defence  of  the  fair  woman.  Now,  the 
exacting  reader  may  question  Kosebrook's  intrepidity  in  not 
proceeding  at  once  to  the  rescue  of  the  victim  ;  but  when  we 
say  that  he  was  ignorant  of  the  positive  order  given  the 
keeper,  and  only  caught  distinctly  the  words — "  I'll  send 
my  nigger  fellow,  Joe,  with  an  order  for  her!"  they  may 
discover  an  excuse  for  his  hastily  withdrawing  from  the 
establishment.  Indeed,  that  my  reader  may  withhold  his 
censure,  it  may  be  well  to  add  that  he  did  this  in  order  to 
devise  more  strategical  means  of  effecting  her  escape. 

And  now,  ye  who  have  nerves — let  them  not  be  shaken  ; 
let  not  your  emotions  rise,  ye  who  have  souls,  and  love  the 
blessings  of  liberty  ;  let  not  mothers  nor  fathers  weep  over 


PBIUGLE  BLOWEBS  HAS  BUSINESS.  671 

democracy's  wrongs ;  nor  let  man  charge  us  with  picturing  the 
horrors  of  a  black  romance  when  we  introduce  the  spectacle 
in  the  room  of  punishments  :  such,  be  it  known,  is  not  our 
business,  nor  would  we  trifle  unjustly  with  the  errors  of 
society ;  but,  if  chivalry  have  blushes,  we  do  not  object 
to  their  being  used  here.  The  keeper,  followed  by  Blowers, 
enters  a  small  room  at  the  further  end  of  the  passage.  It 
is  some  sixteen  feet  long  by  twelve  wide,  and  proportionately 
high  of  ceiling.  The  pale  light  of  a  tallow  candle,  suspended 
from  the  ceiling  by  a  wire,  and  from  which  large  flakes  of 
the  melted  grease  lay  cone-like  on  the  pine  floor,  discloses 
the  gloom,  and  discovers  hanging  from  the  walls,  grim  with 
smoke,  sundry  curious  caps,  cords,  leathern  cats,  and  the 
more  improved  paddles  of  wood,  with  flat  blades.  The  very 
gloom  of  the  place  might  excite  the  timid ;  but  the  reflection 
of  how  many  tortures  it  has  been  the  scene,  and  the  myste 
rious  stillness  pervading  its  singularly  decorated  walls,  add 
still  more  to  increase  apprehension.  A  plank,  some  two 
feet  wide,  and  raised  a  few  inches,  stretches  across  the  floor, 
and  is  secured  at  each  end  with  cleets.  About  midway  of 
this  are  ropes  securing  the  victim's  feet ;  and  through  the 
dim  light  is  disclosed  the  half  nude  body  of  our  fair  girl, 
suspended  by  the  wrists,  which  are  clasped  in  bands  of  cord, 
that,  being  further  secured  to  a  pulley  block,  is  hauled  taut 
by  a  tackle.  Suddenly  the  wretched  woman  gives  vent  to 
her  feelings,  and  in  paroxysms  of  grief  sways  her  poor  body 
to  and  fro,  imploring  mercy  !  "  Nay,  master !  think  that  I 
am  a  woman — that  I  have  a  heart  to  feel  and  bleed ;  that 
I  am  a  mother  and  a  wife,  though  a  slave.  Let  your  deeda 
be  done  quickly,  or  end  me  and  save  me  this  shame !"  she 
supplicates,  as  the  bitter,  burning  anguish  of  her  goaded 
soul  gives  out  its  flood  of  sorrow.  Chivalry,  forsooth,  lies 
cold  and  unmoved — Blowers  has  no  relish  for  such  inconsis 
tency  ; — such  whinings,  he  says,  will  not  serve  southern 
principles.  The  mulatto  attendant  has  secured  the  fall,  and 
stands  a  few  feet  behind  Blowers  and  the  keeper,  as  that 
functionary  says,  laying  his  coarse  hands  on  the  woman's 
loins,  "  How  silky !"  The  mulatto  man  shakes  his  head, 
revengefully,  making  a  grimace,  as  Broadman,  having 
selected  the  smallest  paddle  (reminding  us  of  the  curious 
sympathy  now  budding  between  the  autocratic  knout  and 
37 


572  A  FAMILIAB  SCENE,  IN  WHICH 

democratic  lash)  again  addresses  Blowers.  "  I  doubt,  sir," 
he  says,  "  if  the  woman  stand  a  blow.  Necessity  's  a  hard 
master,  sir  ;  and  in  this  very  act  is  the  test  more  trying  than 
I  have  ever  known  it.  I  dissemble  myself  when  I  see  a 
wretch  of  fine  flesh — a  woman  with  tender  senses,  in  distress, 
and  I  am  made  the  instrument  of  adding  to  her  suffering. 
Indeed,  sir,  when  I  contemplate  the  cause  of  such  wretch 
edness,  and  the  poverty  forcing  me  to  remain  in  this 
situation,  no  imagination  can  represent  the  horror  of  my 
feelings." 

"  "We  have  no  demand  on  your  feelings,  my  man !  we  want 
your  duty — what  the  state  put  you  here  to  perform,"  inter 
rupted  Blowers,  placing  his  thumbs  in  his  vest,  and  making 
a  step  backward.  Another  second,  and  the  attendant  lighted 
a  hand-lamp, — a  sharp,  slapping  blow  was  heard,  a  death-like 
shriek  followed ;  the  flesh  quivered  and  contracted  into  a 
discoloured  and  inflamed  pustule ;  the  body  writhed  a  few 
seconds  in  convulsive  spasms ;  a  low  moaning  followed,  and 
that  fair  form  hung  swooning  in  the  slings,  as  the  keeper,  in 
fright,  cried  out,  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  to  the  attendant — 
"Lower  away  the  fall!"  As  if  the  fiend  had  not  yet 
gratified  his  passion,  no  sooner  was  the  seemingly  Lifeless 
body  lowered  clumsily  to  the  floor,  than  he  grasped  the 
weapon  from  Broadman's  hand,  and  like  a  tiger  seeking  its 
banquet  of  flesh,  was  about  to  administer  a  second  blow. 
But  Broadman  had  a  good  heart,  the  admonitions  of  which 
soared  high  above  the  state's  mandate  :  seizing  Blowers  in 
his  arms,  he  ejected  him  from  the  door,  ran  back  to  the 
prostrate  woman,  released  her  bruised  limbs  from  the 
fastenings,  gathered  her  to  his  arms ;  and  with  nervous 
hands  and  anxious  face  did  he  draw  from  his  pocket  the 
well-timed  hartshorn,  by  the  application  of  which  he  sought 
to  restore  her,  as  the  mulatto  man  stood  by,  bathing  her 
temples  with  cold  water.  "  Ah !  shame  on  the  thing  called 
a  man  who  could  abuse  a  sweet  creature  of  fine  flesh,  like 
thee !  it's  not  many  has  such  a  pretty  sweet  face,"  says 
Broadman,  with  an  air  of  compassion,  resting  her  shoulder 
against  his  bended  knee  as  he  encircles  it  with  his  left  arm, 
and  looks  upon  the  pale  features, tears  glistening  in  his  honest 
eyes.  We  might  say  with  Broadman — "  It's  not  the  finest, 
nor  the  polished  of  flesh,  that  hath  the  softest  hearts." 


PEIN&LE  BLOWEES  HAS  BUSINESS.  573 

But,  reader,  having  performed  our  duty,  let  us  drop  the 
curtain  over  this  sad  but  true  scene ;  and  when  you  have 
conjectured  the  third  and  fourth  acts  of  the  drama,  join 
with  us  in  hoping  the  chivalry  of  our  State  may  yet  awake 
to  a  sense  of  its  position,  that,  when  we  again  raise  it,  a 
pleasanter  prospect  may  be  presented. 


CHAPTER  LIV. 

IN  WHICH  ARE  DISCOVEHIKS  AND  PLEASANT  SCENES. 

ST.  PATEICK'S  night  closed  the  day  on  which  the  scenes  of 
the  foregoing  chapter  were  enacted  ;  and  that  patron  saint 
being  of  aristocratic  descent,  which  caused  him  to  be  held 
in  high  esteem  by  our  "  very  first  families,"  than  among 
whom  better  admirers  could  nowhere  be  found,  his  anniver 
sary  was  sure  to  be  celebrated  with  much  feasting  and 
drinking.  But  while  this  homage  to  the  good  saint  made 
glad  the  hearts  of  thousands — while  the  city  seemed  radiant 
of  joy,  and  reeling  men  from  Hibernia's  gorgeous  hall 
found  in  him  an  excuse  for  their  revelries — there  sat  in  the 
box  of  a  cafe,  situated  on  the  west  side  of  Meeting  Street, 
two  men  who  seemed  to  have  a  deeper  interest  at  heart  than 
that  of  the  Saint's  joy  on  his  road  to  paradise.  The  one 
was  a  shortish  man,  coarse  of  figure,  and  whose  browned 
features  and  figured  hands  bespoke  him  a  sailor ;  the  other 
was  delicate  of  figure,  with  pale,  careworn  countenance  and 
nervous  demeanour.  Upon  the  marble  slab,  on  which 
they  rested  their  elbows,  sat  a  bottle  of  old  Madeira,  from 
which  they  sipped  leisurely,  now  and  then  modulating  their 
conversation  into  whispers.  Then  the  man  of  brown 
features  spoke  out  more  at  ease,  as  if  they  had  concluded 
the  preliminaries  of  some  important  business. 

"Well,  well, — now  isn't  that  strange?"  said  he,  sighing 
as  he  spread  his  brawny  hands  upon  the  white  marble. 
"  Natur's  a  curious  mystery,  though  (he  looked  intently  at 
the  other) :  why,  more  nor  twenty  years  have  rolled  over 
since  I  did  that  bit  of  a  good  turn,  and  here  I  is  the  very 
same  old  Jack  Hardweather,  skipper  of  the  Maggy  Bell. 
But  for  all  that — and  I'd  have  folks  know  it ! — the  Maggy's 
as  trim  a  little  craft-as  ever  lay  to  on  a  sou'-easter ;  and  she 
can  show  as  clean  a  pair  of  heels  as  any  other — barring  her 
old  top  timbers  complain  now  and  then — to  the  best  cutter 
as  ever  shook  Uncle  Sam's  rags."  His  hard  features 
softened,  as  in  the  earnest  of  his  heart  he  spoke.  He 


DISCOVERIES  AND  PLEASANT  SCENES,  575 

extended  his  hand  across  the  table,  grasping  firmly  that  of 
his  nervous  friend,  and  continued — "  And  it  was  no  other 
witch  than  the  taunt  Maggy  Bell  that  landed  that  good 
woman  safe  on  the  free  sands  of  old  Bahama!"  The 
Maggy,  he  tells  the  other,  is  now  at  the  wharf,  where  the 
good  wife,  Molly  Hardweather,  keeps  ship  while  the  boys 
take  a  turn  ashore. 

"  There's  always  a  wise  provision  to  relieve  one's  feelings 
when  sorrow  comes  unexpectedly,"  returns  the  nervous 
man,  his  hand  trembling  as  he  draws  forth  the  money  to 
pay  the  waiter  who  answered  his  call. 

"  Yes !"  quickly  rejoined  the  other,  "  but  keep  up  a  good 
heart,  like  a  sailor  hard  upon  a  lee  shore,  and  all  '11  be 
bright  and  sunny  in  a  day  or  two.  And  now  we'll  just 
make  a  tack  down  the  bay — street — and  sight  the  Maggy. 
There's  a  small  drop  of  somethin'  in  the  locker,  that'll  help 
to  keep  up  yer  spirits,  I  reckon — a  body's  spirit*  has  to  be 
tautened  now  and  then,  as  ye  do  a  bobstay, — and  the  wife 
(she's  a  good  sort  of  a  body,  though  I  say  it)  will  do  the 
best  she  can  in  her  hard  way  to  make  ye  less  troubled  at 
heart.  Molly  Hardweather  has  had  some  hard  ups  and 
downs  in  life,  knows  well  the  cares  of  a  mother,  and  has  had 
twins  twice;  yes — adds  the  hardy  seafarer — we  arn't 
polished  folks,  nor  high  of  blood,  but  we've  got  hearts,  and 
as  every  true  heart  hates  slavery,  .so  do  we,  though  we  are 
forced  to  dissemble  oar  real  feelings  for  the  sake  of  peace 
in  the  trade."  Here  the  delicate  man  took  the  sailor's  arm, 
and  sallied  out  to  seek  the  little  Maggy  Bell,  the  former 
saying  the  meeting  was  as  strange  as  grateful  to  his  very 
soul.  Down  Market  Street,  shaded  in  darkness,  they 
wended  their  way,  and  after  reaching  the  wharf,  passed 
along  between  long  lines  of  cotton  bales,  piled  eight  and 
ten  feet  high,  to  the  end,  where  lay  motionless  the  pretty 
Maggy  Bell,  as  clipper-like  a  craft  as  ever  spread  canvas. 
The  light  from  the  cabin  shed  its  faint  gleams  over  the 
quarter-deck,  as  Hardweather  halted  on  the  capsill,  and 
with  a  sailor's  pride  run  his  quick  black  eye  along  her 
pirate-like  hull,  then  aloft  along  the  rigging.  Exultingly, 
he  says,  "  She  is  the  sauciest  witch  that  ever  faced  sea  or 
showed  a  clean  pair  of  heels.  The  Maggy  Bell  '.—he  pats 
his  friend  on  the  shoulder — why,  sir,  she  has — just  between 
ourselves  now — slided  many  a  poor  slave  off  into  freedom ; 


676  DISCOVERIES  AND  PLEASANT  SCENES. 

but  folks  here  don't  think  it  of  me.  Now,  if  I  reckon 
right— he  bites  his  tobacco,  and  extends  it  to  the  stranger— 
and  I  believe  I  do,  it's  twenty  years  since  the  Maggy,  of 
one  dark  night,  skimmed  it  by  that  point,  with  Fort 
Pinkney  on  it,  yonder,  that  good  creature  on  board."  He 
points  to  the  murky  mass,  scarce  visible  in  the  distance,  to 
the  east.  "  And  now  she's  one  of  the  noblest  women  that 
ever  broke  bread  to  the  poor ;  and  she's  right  comfortable 
off,  now, — alwa's  has  a  smile,  and  a  kind  word,  and  some 
thing  good  for  old  Jack  Hardweather  whenever  she  sees  him. 
Lord  bless  yer  soul !— here  he  shakes  his  head  earnestly,  and 
says  he  never  was  a  lubber — Jack  Hardweather  didn't  care 
about  the  soft  shot  for  his  locker ;  it  was  my  heart  that 
felt  the  kindness.  Indeed,  it  always  jumps  and  jerks  like  a 
bobstay  in  a  head  sea,  when  I  meets  her.  And  then,  when 
I  thinks  how  'twas  me  done  the  good  turn,  and  no  thanks 
to  nobody !  You  hearn  of  me  'afore,  eh  (he  turns  to  his 
companion,  who  measuredly  answers  in  the  affirmative). 
Well,  then,  my  name's  Skipper  Jack  Hardweather,  known 
all  along  the  coast ;  but,  seeing  how  the  world  and  naviga 
tion's  got  shortened  down,  they  call  me  old  Jack  Splitwnter. 
I  s'ppose  it's  by  the  way  of  convenience,  and  so  neither 
wife  nor  me  have  a  bit  of  objection."  Here  the  conversa 
tion  was  interrupted  by  the  good  wife's  round,  cheery  face 
shooting  suddenly  from  out  the  companion-way,  and  en 
joining  our  friend  Jack  to  come  away  aboard,  her  high  peaked 
cap  shining  like  snow  on  a  dark  surface.  The  trutii  was, 
that  Splitwater,  as  he  was  styled,  had  become  so  much 
absorbed  in  excitement  as  to  forget  the  length  of  his  yarn. 
"Come  away,  now  !"  says  the  good  wife,  "  everybody's  left 
the  Maggy  to-night;  and  ther's  na  knowin'  what 'd  a' 
become  'un  her  if  a'h  hadn't  looked  right  sharp,  for  ther' 
wer'  a  muckle  ship  a' mast  run  her  dune ;  an'  if  she  just 
had,  the  Maggy  wad  na  mar  bene  seen !"  The  good  wife 
shakes  her  head;  her  rich  Scotch  tongue  sounding  on  the 
still  air,  as  with  apprehension  her  chubby  face  shines  in 
the  light  of  the  candle  she  holds  before  it  with  her  right 
hand.  Skipper  Splitwater  will  oee  his  friend  on  board,  he 
says,  as  they  follow  her  down  the  companion-ladder. 
!'  Wife  thinks  as  much  of  the  Maggy — and  would,  I  believe 
in  my  soul,  cry  her  life  out  if  anything  happened  till  her : 
•wife's  a  good  body  aboard  a  ship,  and  can  take  a  trick  at 


DISCOVERIE^AND  PLEASANT  SCENES.  57"? 

the  wheel  just  as  well  as  Harry  Span  the  mate.  Skipper 
Splitwater  leads  the  way  into  a  little  dingy  cabin,  a  partition 
running  athwart  ships  dividing  it  into  two  apartments ; 
the  former  being  where  Skipper  Hardweather  "sleeps  his 
crew "  and  cooks  his  mess,  the  sternmost  where  he  receives 
his  friends.  This  latter  place,  into  which  he  conducts  the 
nervous  man,  is  lumbered  with  boxes,  chests,  charts,  camp- 
seats,  log-lines,  and  rusty  quadrants,  and  sundry  marine 
relics  which  only  the  inveterate  coaster  could  conceive  a 
use  for.  But  the  good  wife  Molly,  whose  canny  face  bears 
the  wrinkles  of  some  forty  summers,  and  whose  round,  short 
figure  is  so  simply  set  off  with  bright  plaid  frock  and  apron  of 
gingham  check,  in  taste  well  adapted  to  her  humble  position, 
is  as  clean  and  tidy  as  ever  was  picture  of  mine  Vrow  Varden- 
stein.  Nevertheless, — we  know  the  reader  will  join  us  in  the 
sentiment — that  which  gave  the  air  of  domestic  happiness  a  com 
pleteness  hitherto  unnoticed,  was  a  wee  responsibility,  as  seen 
sprawling  and  kicking  goodnaturedly  on  the  white  pillow  of 
the  starboard  berth,  where  its  two  peering  eyes  shone  forth  as 
bright  as  new-polished  pearls.  The  little  darling  is  just  a 
year  old,  Dame  Hardweather  tells  us;  it's  a  twin,  —  the 
other  died,  and,  she  knows  foil  well,  has  gone  to  heaven. 
Here  she  takes  the  little  cherub  in  her  lap,  and  having 
made  her  best  courtesy  as  Hardweather  introduces  her  to 
his  nervous  friend,  seats  herself  on  the  locker,  and  com 
mences  suckling  it,  while  he  points  to  the  very  place  on 
the  larboard  side  where  Clotilda — "  Ah !  I  just  caught  the 
name,"  he  says, — used  to  sit  and  sorrow  for  her  child. 
"  And  then,"  he  continues,  "  on  the  quarter-deck  she  'd  go 
and  give  such  longing  looks  back,  like  as  if  she  wanted  to 
see  it ;  and  when  she  could  n't,  she  'd  turn  away  and  sigh  so. 
And  this,  Molly,"  he  continues,  "is  the  self-same  child 
my  friend  here,  who  I  am  as  happy  to  meet  as  a  body  can 
be,  wants  me  to  carry  off  from  these  wolves  of  slavery ;  and 
if  I  don't,  then  my  name's  not  Jack  Splitwater ! "  So  say- , 
rng,  he  bustles  about,  tells  the  nervous  man  he  must  excuse 
the  want  of  finery,  that  he  has  been  a  hard  coaster  for  God 
knows  how  many  years,  and  the  little  place  is  all  he  can 
afford  ;  for  indeed  he  is  poor,  but  expects  a  better  place  one 
of  these  days.  Then  he  draws  forth  from  a  little  nook  in 
the  stern  locker  a  bottle,  which  he  says  contains  pure  stuff, 


578  DISCOVERIES  AND  PLEA^.NT  SCENES. 

and  of  which  he  invites  his  visitor  to  partake,  that  he  may 
keep  up  a  good  heart,  still  hoping  for  the  best.  The  ner 
vous  man  declines  his  kind  invitation,  —  he  has  too  much 
at  heart,  and  the  sight  of  the  child  so  reminds  him  of  his 
own  now  blighted  in  slavery.  The  good  woman  now 
becoming  deeply  concerned,  Hardweather  must  needs  re 
count  the  story,  and  explain  the-  strange  man's  troubles, 
which  he  does  in  simple  language ;  but,  as  the  yarn  is 
somewhat  long,  the  reader  must  excuse  our  not  transcribing 
it  here.  With  anxious  face  and  listening  ears  did  the 
woman  absorb  every  word  ;  and  when  the  earnest  skipper 
concluded  with  grasping  firmly  the  man's  hand,  and  saying 
—  "Just  you  scheme  the  strategy,  and  if  I  don't  carry  it  out 
my  name  aint  Jack  Hardweather  !  "  would  she  fain  have  had 
him  go  on.  "  Lack  a  day,  good  man  !  "  she  rejoined,  fondling 
closer  to  her  bosom  the  little  suckling ;  "  get  ye  the  wee 
bairn  and  bring  it  hither,  and  I'll  mak  it  t'uther  twin — na 
body'll  kno't!  and  da  ye  ken  hoo  ye  may  mak  the  bonny 
wife  sik  a  body  that  nane  but  foxes  wad  ken  her.  Just 
mak  her  a  brae  young  sailor,  and  the  Maggy  Bell  '11  do  the 
rest  on't."  Hardweather  here  interrupted  Molly's  sugges 
tion  which  was,  indeed,  most  fortunate,  and  albeit  supplied 
the  initiative  to  the  strategy  afterwards  adopted — for  slavery 
opens  wide  the  field  of  strategy — by  reminding  the  stranger 
that  she  had  a  long  Scotch  head.  The  night  had  now  well 
advanced  ;  the  stranger  shook  the  woman's  hand  firmly,  and 
bade  her  good  night,  as  a  tear  gushed  into  his  eyes.  The 
scene  was  indeed  simple,  but  touching.  The  hard  mariner 
will  accompany  his  friend  to  the  wharf;  and  then  as  he 
again  turns  on  the  capsill,  he  cannot  bid  him  good  night 
without  adding  a  few  words  more  in  praise  of  the  little  Mag 
gy  Bell,  whose  name  is  inscribed  in  gilt  letters  upon  the 
flash-board  of  her  stern.  Holding  his  hand,  he  says :  "  Now, 
keep  the  heart  up  right!  and  in  a  day  or  two  we'll  have 
^all  aboard,  and  be  in  the  stream  waiting  for  a  fair  breeze — 
then  the  Maggy  '11  play  her  part.  Bless  yer  soul !  the  little 
craft  and  me's  coasted  down  the  coast  nobody  knows  how 
many  years;  and  she  knows  every  nook,  creek,  reef,  and 
point,  just  as  well  as  I  does.  Just  give  her  a  double-reefed 
mainsail,  and  the  lug  of  a  standing  jib,  and  in  my  soul  I 
believe  she'd  make  the  passage  without  compass,  chart,  or  a 
hand  aboard.  By  the  word  of  an  old  sailor,  such  a  craft  is 


DISCOTEEIES  AND  PLEASANT  SCENES.  579 

the  Maggy  Bell.  And  when  the  Spanish  and  English  and 
French  all  got  mixed  up  about  who  owned  Florida,  the 
Maggy  and  me's  coasted  along  them  keys  when,  blowing  a 
screecher,  them  Ingins'  balls  flew  so,  a  body  had  to  hold 
the  hair  on  his  head  ;  but  never  a  bit  did  the  Maggy  mind 
it."  The  stranger's  heart  was  too  full  of  cares  to  respond 
to  the  generous  man's  simplicity;  shaking  his  hand 
fervently,  he  bid  him  good  night,  and  disappeared  up  the 
wharf. 

We  apprehend  little  difficulty  to  the  reader  in  discovering 
the  person  of  Montague  in  our  nervous  man,  who,  in  the 
absence  of  intelligence  from  his  wife,  was  led  to  suspect 
some  foul  play.  Nor  were  his  suspicious  unfounded  ;  for,  on 
returning  to  Memphis,  which  he  did  in  great  haste,  he  found 
his  home  desolate,  his  wife  and  child  borne  back  into  slavery, 
and  himself  threatened  with  Lynch  law.  The  grief  which 
.threatened  to  overwhelm  him  at  finding  those  he  so  dearly 
loved  hurled  back  into  bondage,  was  not  enough  to  appease 
a  community  tenacious  of  its  colour.  No !  he  must  leave  his 
business,  until  the  arrival  of  some  one  from  New  York, 
to  the  clerk  who  so  perfidiously  betrayed  him.  With  sick 
ened  heart,  then,  does  he — only  too  glad  to  escape  the  fury 
of  an  unreasoning  mob — seek  that  place  of  bondage  into 
which  the  captives  have  been  carried ;  nay,  more,  he  left 
the  excited  little  world  (reporting  his  destination  to  be  New 
York)  fully  resolved  to  rescue  them  at  the  hazard  of  his 
life,  and  for  ever  leave  the  country.  Scarcely  necessary  then, 
will  it  be  for  us  to  inform  the  reader,  that,  having  sought 
out  the  Bosebrooks,  he  has  counselled  their  advice,  and 
joined  them  in  devising  means  of  relief.  Blowers  had 
declared,  on  his  sacred  honour,  he  would  not  sell  the  cap 
tives  for  their  weight  in  gold. 

Rosebrook  had  no  sooner  received  Annette's  letter  from 
the  hand  of  Pompe  than  he  repaired  to  Blowers'  plantation 
— as  well  to  sound  that  gentleman's  disposition  to  sell  his 
captives,  as  a  necessary  precaution  against  the  dangers  he 
had  incurred  through  his  participation  in  the  fair  girl's 
escape ;  for  albeit  the  disclosure  might  be  extorted  from 
her  by  cruelty.  But  Blowers  was  too  much  of  a  gentleman 
to  condescend  to  sell  his  captive ;  nor  would  he  listen  to 
arguments  in  her  behalf.  Nevertheless,  we  will  not  under 
rate  Blowers'  character,  that  the  reader  may  suppose  him 


DISCOVERIES  AND  PLEASANT  SCENES. 

devoid  of  compassion  ;  for— be  it  recorded  to  his  fame — he 
did,  on  the  morning  following  that  on  which  the  punish 
ment  we  have  described  in  the  foregoing  chapter  took  place, 
send  the  child,  whose  long  and  piercing  cries  he  could  no 
longer  endure,  to  the  arms  of  its  poor  disconsolate  mother, 
whom  he  hoped  would  take  good  care  of  it. 

]X"ow,  let  not  the  reader  restrain  his  fancy,  but  imagine,  if 
he  can,  Pringle  Mowers'  disappointment  and  state  of  per 
turbation,  when,  three  days  after  the  punishment,  he  pre 
sented  himself  at  Broadman's  establishment,  and  was 
informed  by  that  functionary  that  the  fair  mother  was 
non  est.  With  honest  face  did  Broadman  assert  his 
ignorance  of  wrong.  That  he  had  not  betrayed  his  duty  he 
\vould  satisfy  the  enraged  man,  by  producing  the  very  order 
on  which  he  delivered  them  to  Joe  !  "  Yes,  Joe  was  his 
name ! "  continues  the  honest  man  ;  "  and  he  asserted  his 
ownership,  and  told  a  straightforward  story,  and  didn't  look- 
roguish."  He  passes  the  order  over  to  Blowers,  who,  having 
examined  it  very  cautiously,  says  :  "  Forgery,  forgery  ! — 'tis, 
by  the  Eternal ! "  Turning  his  fat  sides,  he  approaches  the 
window,  and  by  the  light  reads  each  successive  word.  It  is 
written  in  a  scrawl  precisely  like  his  own  ;  but,  forsooth,  it 
cannot  be  his.  However,  deeming  it  little  becoming  a  man 
of  his  standing  to  parley  with  Broadman,  he  quickly  makes 
his  exit,  and,  like  a  locomotive  at  half  speed,  exhausting  his 
perturbation  the  while,  does  he  seek  his  way  into  the  city, 
where  he  discovers  his  loss  to  the  police.  We  have  in 
another  part  of  our  history  described  Blowers  as  something 
of  a  wag ;  indeed,  waggery  was  not  the  least  trait  in  his 
curious  character,  nor  was  he  at  all  cautious  in  the  exercise 
of  it ;  and,  upon  the  principle  that  those  who  give  must 
take,  did  he  render  himself  a  fit  object  for  those  who  in 
dulge  in  that  sort  of  pastime  to  level  their  wit  upon. 
On  this  occasion,  Blowers  had  not  spent  many  hours  in  the 
city  ere  he  had  all  its  convenient  corners  very  fantastically 
decorated  with  large  blue  placards,  whereon  was  inscribed 
the  loss  of  his  valuable  woman,  and  the  offer  of  the  increased 
sum  of  four  hundred  dollars  for  her  apprehension.  The 
placards  were  wonderful  curiosities,  and  very  characteristic 
of  Blowers,  who  in  this  instance  excited  no  small  amount 
of  merriment  among  the  city  wags,  each  of  whom  cracked 
a  joke  at  his  expense.  Now  it  was  not  that  those  waggish 


DISCOVEBIES  AND  PLEASANT  SCENES.  681 

spirits  said  of  his  placard  things  exceedingly  annoying  to 
his  sensitive  feelings,  but  that  every  prig  made  him  the 
butt  of  his  borrowed  wit.  One  quizzed  him  with  want  of 
gallantry, — another  told  him  what  the  ladies  said  of  hia 
loss, — a  third  pitied  him,  but  hoped  he  might  get  back  his 
property ;  and  then,  Tom  Span,  the  dandy  lawyer,  laconi 
cally  told  him  that  to  love  a  fair  slave  was  a  business  he 
must  learn  over  again  ;  and  Sprout,  the  cotton-broker,  said 
there  was  a  law  against  ornamenting  the  city  with  blue 
placards  and  type  of  such  uncommon  size.  In  this  inter 
minable  perplexity,  and  to  avoid  the  last-named  difficulty, 
did  he  invoke  the  genius  of  the  "  bill-sticker,"  who 
obliterated  the  blue  placards  by  covering  them  over  with 
brown  ones,  the  performance  of  which,  Blowers  himself 
superintended.  This  made  the  matter  still  worse,  for  with 
jocose  smile  did  every  wag  say  he  had  hung  the  city  in. 
mourning  for  his  loss ;  which  singular  proceeding  the  ladies 
had  one  and  all  solemnly  protested  against.  Now,  Blowers' 
regard  for  the  ladies  was  proverbial ;  nor  will  it  disparage 
his  character  to  say  that  no  one  was  more  sensitive  of  their 
opinions  concerning  himself.  In  this  unhappy  position, 
then,  whicli  he  might  have  avoided  had  he  exercised  more 
calmly  his  philosophy,  did  his  perturbation  get  the  better  of 
him ; — an  object  of  ridicule  for  every  wag,  and  in  ill-favour 
with  the  very  first  ladies,  never  was  perplexed  man's  temper 
so  near  the  exploding  point  of  high  pressure.  And  here, 
forsooth,  disgusted  with  the  whole  city,  nor  at  all  pleased 
with  the.result  of  his  inventive  genius,  he  sought  relief  in 
strong  drinks  and  a  week  of  dissipation ;  in  which  sad  con 
dition  we  must  leave  him  to  the  reader's  sympathy. 

As  some  of  our  fair  readers  may  be  a  little  prudish, 
or  exacting  of  character,  and  as  we  are  peculiarly  sensi 
tive  of  the  reputation  some  of  the  characters  embodied  in 
this  history  should  bear  to  the  very  end,  we  deem  it  prudent 
here  not  to  disclose  the  nature  of  the  little  forgery  which  was 
perpetrated  at  Blowers'  expense,  nor  the  means  by  which 
it  was  so  cleverly  carried  out,  to  the  release  of  the  fair 
captives,  who  must  now  be  got  out  of  the  city.  Should 
we,  in  the  performance  of  this  very  desirable  duty,  fail  to 
please  the  reader's  taste  for  hair-bi'eadth  escapes,  unnatural 
heroism,  and  sublime  disinterestedness,  an  excuse  may  be 
found  in  our  lack  of  soul  to  appreciate  those  virtues  of  ro- 


582  DISCOVERIES  AND  PLEASANT  SCENES. 

mance.  We  have  no  taste  for  breathless  suspenses,  no  love 
of  terror :  we  deal  not  in  tragedy,  nor  traffic  in  dramatic 
effects.  But  as  the  simplest  strategy  is  often  the  most 
successful  of  results,  so  did  ft  prove  in  this  particular  case ; 
for,  be  it  known,  that  on  the  morning  of  the  twenty-fourth  of 

March, ,  was  Molly  Hard  weather's  suggestion  adopted 

and  effectually  carried  out,  to  the  gratification  of  sundry 
interested  persons.  Calm  and  bright  was  that  morning  ; 
Charleston  harbour  and  its  pretty  banks  seemed  radiant  of 
loveliness  :  the  phantom-like  Maggy  Bell,  with  mainsail  and 
jib  spread  motionless  in  the  air,  swung  gently  at  anchor 
midway  the  stream ;  and  Dame  Hardweatlier  sat  in  the  dingy 
cabin,  her  little  chubby  face  beaming  contentment  as  she 
nursed  the  "  t'other  twin."  The  brusque  figure  of  old  Jack, 
immersed  in  watchfulness,  paced  to  and  fro  the  Maggy's 
deck  ;  and  in  the  city  as  trim  a  young  sailor  as  ever  served 
signal  halliards  on  board  man-o'-war,  might  be  seen,  his 
canvas  bag  slung  over  his  shoulder,  carelessly  plodding 
along  through  the  busy  street,  for  the  landing  at  the  market 
slip.  Soon  the  Maggy's  flying  jib  was  run  up,  then  the  fore 
sail  followed  and  bung  loose  by  the  throat.  Near  the  wheel, 
as  if  in  contemplation,  sat  Montague,  while  Hardweatlier 
continued  his  pacing,  now  glancing  aloft,  then  to  seaward, 
as  if  invoking  Boreas'  all-welcome  aid,  and  again  watching 
intently  in  the  direction  of  the  slip.  A  few  minutes  more 
and  a  boat  glided  from  the  wharf,  and  rowed  away  for  the 
little  craft,  which  it  soon  reached,  and  on  board  of  which  the 
young  sailor  flung  his  bag,  clambered  over  the  rail,  and  seemed 
happy,  as  old  Jack  put  out  his  brawny  hand,  saying :  "  Come 
youngster,  bear  a  hand  now,  and  set  about  brightening  up  the 
coppers  !"  We  need  not  here  discover  the  hearts  that  leaped 
with  joy  just  then;  we  need  not  describe  the  anxiety  that 
found  relief  when  the  young  sailor  set  foot  on  the  Maggy's 
deck  ;  nor  need  we  describe  those  eyes  on  shore  that  in  tears 
watched  the  slender  form  as  it  disappeared  from  sight. 
Just  then  a  breeze  wafted  from  the  north,  the  anchor  was 
hove  up,  the  sails  trimmed  home,  and  slowly  seaward  moved 
the  little  bark.  As  she  drifted  rather  than  sailed  past 
Port  Pinkuey,  two  burly  officials,  as  is  the  custom, 
boarded  to  search  for  hapless  fugitives  ;  but,  having  great 
confidence  in  the  honesty  of  Skipper  Splitwater,  who  never 
failed  to  give  them  of  his  best  cheer,  they  drank  a  pleasant 


DTSCOYERIE3  AND  PLEAS  A  NX  SCENES.  583 

passage  to  him,  made  a  cursory  search,  a  note  of  the 
names  of  all  on  board  (Jack  saying  Tom  Bolt  was  the 
young  sailor's),  and  left  quite  satisfied.  Indeed,  there  was 
nothing  to  excite  their  suspicious,  for  the  good  dame  sat 
nursing  the  "  twa  twins,"  nor  left  aught  to  discover  the 
discrepancy  between  their  ages,  if  we  except  a  pair  of 
little  red  feet  that  dangled  out  from  beneath  the  fringe  of  a 
plaid  shawl.  And  the  young  sailor,  who  it  is  hardly  necessary 
to  inform  the  reader  is  Annette,  was  busy  with  his  cooking. 
And  now  the  little  craft,  free  upon  the  wave,  increased  her 
speed  as  her  topsails  spread  out,  and  glided  swiftly  seaward, 
heaven  tempering  the  winds  to  her  well-worn  sails.  God 
speed  the  Maggy  Bell  as  she  vaults  over  the  sea ;  and  may 
she  never  want  water  under  keel,  slaves  to  carry  into 
freedom,  or  a  good  Dame  Hardweather  to  make  cheerful  the 
little  cabin  !  say  we. 

And  now,  reader,  join  us  in  taking  a  fond  farewell  of  the 
Rosebrooks,  who  have  so  nobly  played  their  part,  to  the 
shame  of  those  who  stubbornly  refuse  to  profit  by  their 
example.  They  played  no  inactive  part  in  the  final 
escape ;  but  discretion  forbids  our  disclosing  its  minutiae. 
They  sought  to  give  unto  others  that  liquid  of  life  to  which 
they  owed  their  own  prosperity  and  happiness  ;  nor  did  selfish 
motive  incite  them  to  action.  No ;  they  sought  peace  and 
prosperity  for  the  state  ;  they  would  bind  in  lasting  fellow 
ship  that  union  so  mighty  of  states,  which  tiie  world  with 
mingled  admiration  and  distrust  watches ;  which  in  kindred 
compact  must  be  mightier,  which  dividedmust  fall!  And  while 
taking  leave  of  them,  hoping  their  future  may  be  brightened 
with  joys — and,  too,  though  it  may  not  comport  with  the 
interests  of  our  southern  friends,  that  their  inventive  genius 
may  never  want  objects  upon  which  to  illustrate  itself  so 
happily — let  us  not  forget  to  shake  old  Jack  Hardweather 
warmly  by  the  hand,  invoking  for  him  many  fair  wiads  and 
profitable  voyages.  A  big  heart  enamelled  of  "  coarse  flesh  ''• 
is  his ;  but  with  his  warm  functions  he  has  done  much  good 
may  he  be  rich  in  heaven's  rewards,  for  he  is  poor  in  earth's  ! 


CHAPTER  LV. 

IN  WHICH  IS  A  HAPPY  MEETING,  SOME  CURIOUS  FACTS  DEVEL 
OPED,  AND  CLOTILDA'S  HISTORY  DISCLOSED. 

IT  was  sevep.  days  after  the  sailing  of  the  Maggy  Bell,  as 
described  in  the  foregoing  chapter,  that  Montague  was  seen 
sitting  in  the  comfortably  furnished  parlour  of  a  neat 
cottage  in  the  suburbs  of  Nassau.  The  coal  fire  burned 
brightly  in  a  polished  grate  ;  the  carpets  and  rugs,  and 
lolling  mats,  indicated  of  care  and  comfort ;  the  tabbied  fur 
niture  and  chastely  worked  ottomans,  and  sofas,  and  chairs, 
and  inlaid  workstands,  seem  bright  of  regularity  and  taste  ; 
and  .the  window  curtains  of  lace  and  damask,  and  the  scroll 
cornices  from  which  they  flowingly  hung,  and  the  little 
landscape  paintings  that  hung  upon  the  satin-papered  walls, 
and  the  soft  light  that  issued  from  two  girandoles  on  the 
mantel-piece  of  figured  marble,  all  lent  their  cheering  aid  to 
make  complete  the  radiant  picture  of  a  happy  home.  But 
Montague  sat  nervous  with  anxiety.  "  Mother  won't  be  a 
minute  !"  said  a  pert  little  fellow  of  some  seven  summers, 
who  played  with  his  hands  as  he  sat  on  the  sofa,  and  asked 
questions  his  emotions  forbid  answering.  On  an  ottoman 
near  the  cheerful  fire,  sat,  with  happy  faces,  the  prettily 
dressed  figures  of  a  boy  and  girl,  older  in  age  than  the  first ; 
while  by  the  side  of  Montague  sat  Maxwell,  whose  manly 
countenance  we  transcribed  in  the  early  part  of  our  narra 
tive,  and  to  whom  Montague  had  in  part  related  the  sad 
events  of  the  four  months  past,  as  he  heaved  a  sigh,  saying, 
"  How  happy  must  he  die  who  careth  for  the  slave  !"  Ere 
the  words  had  escaped  his  lips, the  door  opened, and  the  grace 
ful  form  of  a  beautiful  woman  entered,  her  finely  oval  but 
pensive  face  made  more  expressive  by  the  olive  that  shaded  it, 
and  those  deep  soul-like  eyes  that  now  sparkled  in  gentle 
ness,  and  again  flashed  with  apprehension.  Nervously  she 
paused  and  set  her  eyes  with  intense  stare  on  Montague ; 
then  vaulted  into  his  arms  and  embraced  him,  crying,  "  la 
not  my  Annette  here  ?"  as  a  tear  stole  down  her  cheeks. 


A  HAPPY  MEETING.  585 

Her  quick  eye  detected  trouble  in  bis  deportment ;  sbe 
grasped  his  left  band  firmly  in  her  right,  and  with  quivering 
frame  besought  him  to  keep  her  no  longer  in  the  agony  of 
suspense.  "  Why  thus  suddenly  have  you  come  ?  ah !: — 
you  disclose  a  deep-rooted  trouble  in  not  forewarning  me  ! 
tell  me  all  and  relieve  my  feelings!"  sbe  ejaculated,  in  broken 
accents.  "  I  was  driven  from  that  country  because  I  loved 
nature  and  obeyed  its  laws.  My  very  soul  loved  its  great 
ness,  and  would  have  done  battle  for  its  glories — yea,  I 
loved  it  for  the  many  blessings  it  hath  for  the  favoured  ;  but 
one  dark  stain  on  its  bright  escutcheon  so  betrayed  justice, 
that  no  home  was  there  for  me — none  for  the  wife  I  had 
married  in  lawful  wedlock."  Here  the  woman,  in  agonising 
throbs,  interrupted  him  by  enquiring  why  he  said  there  was 
no  home  for  the  wife  he  had  married  in  lawful  wedlock — 
was  not  the  land  of  the  puritans  free  ?"  "Nay!"  he 
answered,  in  a  measured  tone,  shaking  his  head,  "  it  is  be- 
stained  not  with  their  crimes — for  dearly  do  they  love  justice 
and  regard  the  rights  of  man — but  with  the  dark  deeds  of 
the  man-seller,  who,  heedless  of  their  feelings,  and  despising 
their  moral  rectitude,  would  make  solitary  those  happy 
homes  that  brighten  in  greatness  over  its  soil."  Again, 
frantic  of  anxiety,  did  the  woman  interrupt  him  :  "  Heavens  ! 
— she  is  not  dragged  back  into  slavery  ?"  she  enquired,  her 
emotions  rising  beyond  her  power  of  restraint,  as  she  drew 
bitter  pangs  from  painful  truths.  With  countenance 
bathed  in  trouble  did  Montague  return  her  solicitous  glance, 
and  speak.  "Into  slavery  he  muttered,  in  half  choked  accents 
was  she  hurled  back."  He  had  not  finished  the  sentence  ere 
anxiety  burst  its  bounds,  and  the  anxious  woman  shrieked,  and 
fell  swooning  in  his  arms.  Even  yet  her  olive  face  was  beaute- 
fnlly  pale.  The  cheerful  parlour  now  rung  with  confusion,  ser 
vants  bustled  about  in  fright,  the  youthful  family  shrieked  in 
fear,  the  father  sought  to  restore  the  fond  mother,  as  Mon 
tague  chafed  her  right  hand  in  his.  Let  us  leave  to  the  reader's 
conjecture  a  scene  his  fancy  may  depict  better  than  we  can 
describe,  and  pass  to  one  more  pleasant  of  results.  Some 
half  an  hour  had  transpired,  when,  as  if  in  strange  bewilder 
ment,  Clotilda  opened  her  eyes  and  seemed  conscious  of  her 
position.  A  deep  crimson  shaded  her  olive  cheeks,  as 
in  luxurious  ease  she  lay  upon  the  couch,  her  flushed  face 
and  her  thick  wavy  hair,  so  prettily  parted  over  her  classic 


586  A  HAPPY  MEETING. 

brow,  curiously  contrasting  with  the  snow-white  pillow  on 
which  it  rested.     A  pale  and  emaciated  girl  sat  beside  her, 
smoothing  her  brow  with  her  left  hand,  laying  the  right 
gently     on   the     almost     motionless    bosom,    kissing    the 
crimsoning    cheek,     and    lisping    rather    than    speaking, 
"  Mother,  mother,  oh  mother  !" — it's  only  me."     And  then 
the  wet  courses  on  her  cheeks  told  how  the  fountain   of 
her  soul  had  overflown.     Calmly  and  vacantly  the   woman 
gazed   on    the   fair   girl,    with    whom    she   had    been   left 
alone.     Then  she  raised  her  left  hand  to  her  brow,  sighed, 
and    seemed    sinking    into    a    tranquil   sleep.     "  Mother  ! 
mother !  I  am  once  more  with  my  mother !"  again  ejacu 
lates  the  fair  girl,  sobbing  audibly ;    "  do    you  not  know 
me,  mother  ?"     Clotilda  started  as  if   suddenly  surprised. 
"  Do  I  dream  ?"  she  muttered,  raising  herself  on  her  elbow, 
as    her  great  soft    eyes    wandered   about  the  room.     She 
would  know  who  called  her  mother.     "  'Tis  me,"  said  the 
'  fair  girl,  returning  her  glances,  "  do  you  not  know  your 
Annette — your  slave  child  ?"     Indeed  the  fair  girl  was  not 
of  that  bright  countenance  she  had  anticipated  meeting,  for 
though  the  punishment  had  little  soiled  her  flesh  the  dagger 
of  disgrace   had  cut  deep  into  her  heart,  and  spread  its 
poison   over   her   soul.     "This   my   Annette!"    exclaimed 
Clotilda,   throwing    her  arms    about    the  fair  girl's   neck, 
drawing    her    frantically  to  her  bosom,   and   bathing  her 
cheeks  with  her  tears  of  joy.     "  Yes,  yes,  'tis  my  long-lost 
child ;  'tis  she  for  whom  my  soul  has  longed — (rod  has  been 
merciful,  rescued  her  from  the  yawning  death  of  slavery,  and 
given  her  back  to  her  mother !     Oh,  no,  I  do  not  dream — it 
is    my  child, — my   Annette!"    she   continued.     Long  and 
affectionately  did  they  mingle  their  tears  and  kisses.  And  now 
a  fond  mother's  joy  seemed  complete,  a  child's  sorrow  ended, 
and  a  happy  family  were  made  happier.     Again  the  family 
gathered  into  the  room,  where,  as  of  one  accord,  they  poured 
out  their  affectionate  congratulations.     One  after  another 
were  the  children  enjoined  to  greet  Annette,  kiss  her,  and 
call  her  sister.     To  them  the  meeting  was  as  strange  as  to 
the  parents   it  was  radiant  of  joy.     "  Mother !"  said  the 
little  boy,  as  he  took  Annette  by  the  hand  and  called  her 
sister,  and  kissed  her  as  she  kissed  him,  "  was  you  married 
before   you   was    married    to    father  ?"     The    affectionate 
mother  had  no   answer  to   make ;    she  might  have   found 


SOME  CURIOUS  PACTS  DEVELOPED.         587 

one  in  the  ignominy  of  the  slave  world.  And  now,  when 
the  measure  of  joy  seemed  full — when  the  bitterness  of  the 
past  dwindled  away  like  a  dream,  and  when  the  future  like 
a  beacon  hung  out  its  light  of  promise, — Clotilda  drew  from 
a  small  workstand  a  discoloured  paper  written  over  in  Greek 
characters,  scarce  intelligible.  "  Annette !"  said  she,  "  my 
mother  gave  me  this  when  last  I  saw  her.  The  chains  were 
then  about  her  hands,  and  she  was  about  to  be  led  away  to  the 
far  south  slave  market :  by  it  did  I  discover  my  history." 
Here  she  unfolded  its  defaced  pages,  lifted  her  eyes  up 
wards  invokingly,  and  continued — "  To  speak  the  crimes  of 
great  men  is  to  hazard  an  oblivion  for  yourself,  to  bring 
upon  you  the  indifference  of  the  multitude ;  but  great  men 
are  often  greatest  in  crime — for  so  it  proved  with  those 
who  completed  my  mother's  destruction.  Give  ear,  then, 
ye  grave  senators,  and  if  ye  have  hearts  of  fathers,  lend 
them !  listen,  ye  queen  mothers  of  my  country,  whose 
sons  and  daughters  are  yet  travelling  the  world's  uncer 
tainties  !  listen,  ye  fathers,  who  have  souls  above  Mammon's 
golden  grasp,  and  sons  in  whom  ye  put  your  trust ! 
listen,  ye  brothers,  whose  pride  brightens  in  a  sister's  virtue  ! 
listen,  ye  sisters,  who  enjoy  paternal  affections,  and  feel  that 
one  day  you  may  grace  a  country's  social  life !  listen,  ye 
philanthropists,  ye  men  of  the  world,  who  love  your  country, 
and  whose  hearts  yearn  for  its  liberties — ye  men  sensitive  of 
our  great  Republic's  honour,  nor  seek  to  traffic  in  the  small 
gains  of  power  when  larger  ones  await  you ;  and,  above  all, 
lend  your  hearts,  ye  brothers  of  the  clergy  in  the  slave 
church,  and  give  ear  while  I  tell  who  I  am,  and  pray  ye,  as 
ye  love  the  soul  of  woman,  to  seek  out  those  who,  like  unto 
what  I  was,  now  wither  in  slavery.  My  grandfather's  name 
was  Iznard  Maldonard,  a  Minorcan,  who  in  the  year  1767 
(some  four  years  after  Florida  was  by  the  king  of  Spain 
ceded  to  Great  Britain)  emigrated  with  one  Dr.  Turnbull — 
whose  name  has  since  shone  on  the  pages  of  history — to 
that  land  of  sunshine  and  promise ;  for,  indeed,  Florida  is  the 
Italy  of  America.  In  that  year  did  numerous  of  the  English 
aristocracy  conceive  plans  as  various  as  inconsistent  for  the 
population  and  improvement  of  the  colony.  With  a  worthy 
motive  did  Lord  Rolle  draw  from,  the  purlieus  of  London* 

*  See  Williams'  History  of  Florida,  page  188.     State  Papers. 
38 


588  SOME  DUBIOUS  FA.CTS  DEVELOPED. 

three    hundred    wretched    females,    whose     condition    he 
would    better   by   reforming  and  making  aid  in  founding 
settlements.     This  his  lordship  found  no  easy  task  ;  but 
the  climate  relieved  him  of  the  perplexity  he  had  brought 
upon  himself,  for  to  it  did    they  all  fall  victims  in  a  very 
short  time.     But  Turnbull,  with  motive  less  commendable, 
obtained  a  grant  of  his   government,  and,  for  the  sum  of 
four  hundred  pounds,  (being  then  in  the  Peleponn-esus)  was 
the  governor  of  Modou  bribed  into  a  permission  to  convey 
sundry  Greek  families  to  Florida,  for  colonization.    Return 
ing  from  Modon  with  a  number  of  families,   he  touched  at 
the  islands  of  Corsica  and  Minorca,  added  another  vessel 
to  his  fleet,  and  increased  the  number  of  his  settlers  to 
fifteen   hundred.     With   exciting   promises   did   he    decoy 
them   to  his  land   of  Egypt,  which  proved  a  bondage  to 
his  shame.     He  would  give  them  lands,  free  passages,  good 
provisions  and  clothing ;  but  none  of  these  promises  did  he 
keep.     A  long  passage  of  four  months  found  many  victims 
to  its  hardships,  and  those  who  arrived  safe  were  emaciated 
by  sickness.     Into  the  interior  were  these  taken  ;  and  there 
they  founded  a  settlement  called  New  Smyrna,  the  land  for 
which — some   sixty   thousand   acres — was  granted  by  the 
governor   of    Florida.     Faithfull}r  and  earnestly  did  they 
labour  for  the  promised  reward,  and  in  less  than  five  years 
had  more  than  three  thousand  acres  of  land  in  the  highest 
state  of  cultivation  ;  but,  as  TurnbulFs  prosperity  increased, 
so  did  the  demon  avarice  ;  and  men,  women,  and  children, 
were  reduced  to  the  most  abject  slavery.     Tasks  greater 
than   they  could  perform  were  assigned  them,  and  a  few 
Italians  and  negroes  made  overseers  and  drivers.     For  food 
the  labourers  were  allotted  seven  quarts  of  corn  per  week. 
Many  who  had  lived  in  affluence  in  their    own   country 
were  compelled  to  wear  osnaburgs,  and  go  bare-foot  through 
the  year.     More  than  nine  years  were  those  valuable  settlers 
kept  in  this  state  of  slavery,  the  cruelties  inflicted  upon 
them  surpassing  in  enormity  those  which  so  stigmatised  the 
savage  Spaniards  of  St.  Domingo.      Drivers  were  compelled 
to  beat  and  lacerate  those  who  had  not  performed  their  tasks  ; 
many  were  left  naked,   tied  all   night  to  trees,  that   mosqui 
toes  might  suck    their   blood,  and    the  suffering   wretches  be 
come  swollen  from  torture.     Some,  to  end  their  troubles,  wan 
dered  off,  and  died  of  starvation  in  the  forest,  and,  including 


SOME  CUEIOTTS  FACTS  DEVELOPED.  689 

the  natural  increase,  less  than  six  hundred  souls  were  left 
at  the  end  of  nine  years.  But,  be  it  known  to  those  whose 
hearts  and  ears  I  have  before  invoked,  that  many  children  of 
these  unfortunate  parents  were  fair  and  beautiful,  which  valu 
able  charms  singularly  excited  the  cupidity  of  the  tyrant,  who 
betook  himself  to  selling  them  for  purposes  most  infamous.  A 
child  overhearing  the  conversation  of  three  English  gentle 
men  w]io  trade  an  excursion  to  the  settlement,  and  being 
quick  of  ear,  conveyed  the  purport  of  it  to  his  mother, 
who,  in  the  night,  summoned  a  council  of  her  confidants 
to  concoct  the  means  of  gaining  more  intelligence.  The 
boy  heard  the  visitors,  who  stood  in  the  great  mansion, 
which  was  of  stone,  say,  "  Did  the  wretches  know  their 
rights  they  had  not  suffered  such  enormities  of  slavery." 
It  was  resolved  that  three  ask  for  long  tasks,  under  the 
pretext  of  gaining  time  to  catch  turtle  on  the  coast ;  but 
having  gained  the  desired  time,  they  set  off  for  St.  Augustine, 
which  they  reached,  after  swimming  rivers  and  delving 
almost  impenetrable  morasses.  They  sought  the  attorney- 
general  of  the  province,  Mr.  Tounge, — I  speak  his  name 
with  reverence — and  with  an  earnest  zeal  did  he  espouse 
the  cause  of  this  betrayed  people.  At  that  time,  Governor 
Grant — since  strongly  suspected  of  being  concerned  with 
Turnbull  in  the  slavery  of  the  Greeks  and  Minorcans — had 
just  been  superseded  by  Tonyn,  who  now  had  it  in  his 
pOAver  to  rebuke  a  tyrant,  and  render  justice  to  a  long- 
injured  people.  Again,  on  the  return  of  the  envoys,  who 
bore  good  tidings,  did  they  meet  in  secret,  and  choose  one 
Pallicier,  a  Greek,  their  leader.  This  man  had  been  master 
mechanic  of  the  mansion.  With  wooden  spears  were  the 
men  armed  and  formed  into  two  lines,  the  women,  children, 
and  old  men  in  the  centre ;  and  thus  did  they  set  off  from 
the  place  of  bondage  to  seek  freedom.  In  vain  did  the 
tyrant — whose  name  democracy  has  enshrined  with  its 
glories — pursue  them,  and  exhaust  persuasion  to  procure 
their  return.  For  three  days  did  they  wander  the  woods, 
delve  morasses,  and  swim  rivers,  ere  they  reached  the  haven 
of  St.  Augustine,  where,  being  provided  with  provisions, 
their  case  was  tried,  and,  albeit,  though  Turnbull  interposed 
all  the  perfidy  wealth  could  purchase,  their  fredeom  estab 
lished.  But  alas!  not  so  well  was  it  with  those  fair 
daughters  whom  the  tyrant  sold  slaves  to  a  life  of  infamy, 


590  CLOTILDA'S  HISTORY  DISCLOSKD. 

and  for  whose  offspring,  now  in  the  bitterness  of  bondage,  do 
we  plead.  Scores  of  these  female  children  were  sold  by  the 
tyrant ;  but  either  the  people  were  drunk  of  joy  over  their 
own  liberty,  and  forgot  to  demand  the  return  of  their 
children,  or  the  good  Younge  felt  forcibly  his  weakness  to 
bring  to  justice  the  rich  and  great— for  the  law  is  weak  where 
slavery  makes  men  great — so  as  to  make  him  disgorge  the 
ill-gotten  treasure  he  might  have  concealed,  but  the  proof 
of  which  nothing  was  easier  than  to  obliterate. 

"  Maldonard,  then,  was  my  grandfather ;  and,  with  my 
grandmother  and  three  children,  was  of  those  who  suffered 
the  cruelties  I  have  detailed.  Two  -  of  his  children  were 
girls,  fair  and  beautiful,  whom  the  tyrant,  under  the  pretext 
of  bettering  their  condition  in  another  colony,  sold  away 
into  slavery.  One  was  my  dear  mother."  Here  tears 
coursed  down  the  woman's  cheeks.  "  And  she,  though  I 
blush  to  tell  it,  was  sold  to  Rovero,  who  was  indeed  my 
father  as  well  as  Franconia's.  But  I  was  years  older  than 
Franconia — I  visit  her  grave  by  day,  and  dream  of  her  by 
night; — nor  was  it  strange  that  she  should  trace  the  cause 
of  similarity  in  our  features.  Forsooth,  it  was  that  singular 
discovery — of  which  I  was  long  ignorant — coupled  with 
the  virtues  of  a  great  soul,  that  incited  her  to  effect  my 
escape.  Rovero,  ere  he  married  Franconia' s  mother,  sold 
Sylvia  Maldonard,  who  was  my  mother ;  and  may  angels 
bring  glad  tidings  of  her  spirit !  Yes,  true  is  it  that  my 
poor  mother  was  sold  to  one  Silenus,  of  whom  Marston 
bought  my  body  while  heaven  guarded  the  soul :  but  here 
would  I  drop  the  curtain  over  the  scene,  for  Maldonard  is 
dead ;  and  in  the  grave  of  his  Italian  wife,  ere  he  gained  his 
freedom,  was  he  buried."  Here  again  the  fond  mother,  as 
she  concluded,  lifted  her  eyes  invokingly,  fondled  her  long- 
lost  child  to  her  bosom, — smiled  upon  her,  kissed  her,  and  was 
happy. 


CHAPTER  LVI. 

IK  WHICH  A  PLOT  IS  DISCLOSED,  AND  THE  MAN-SELLER  MADE  TO 
PAY  THE    PENALTY  OF   HIS  CRIMES. 

WHILE   the   scenes   which   we   have   detailed    in   the   forego 
ing   chapter   were   being   enacted   at   Nassau,   there   stood   in 
the  portico  of  a  massive  dwelling,  fronting  what  in  Charles 
ton   is   called  the  "  Battery  Promenade,"  the  tall  and  stately 
figure  of  a  man,  wrapped  in  a  costly  black  cloak,  the  folds  of 
which  lay  carelessly  about  his  neck  and  shoulders.     For 
some  minutes  did  he  stand,  hesitating,  and  watching  up  and 
down  the  broad  walk  in  front.      The    gas-light  overhead 
shed   its   glare  upon  the  freestone  walls — for  the  night  was 
dark — and,  as  he  turned,  discovered  the  fiue  features  of  a 
frank  and  open  countenance,  to  which  the  flashing  of  two 
great  intelligent  eyes,  a  long  silvery  beard,  and  a  flowing 
moustache,  all  shaded  by  the   broad  brim  of  a  black  felt 
hat,  lent  their  aid  to  make  impressive.     Closer  he  muffled 
his  face  in  the  folds    of  his  cloak,  and  spoke.     "  Time !" 
said  he,  in  a  voice  musical  and  clear,  "  hath  worn  little  on 
his  great  mansion  ;  like  his  r  heart,  it  is  of  good  stone."     The 
mansion,  indeed,  was  of  princely  front,  with  chiselled  fa$ade 
and  great  doric  windows  of  deep  fluted  mouldings,  grand 
in  outline.      Now  a  small  hand  stole    from   beneath   bis 
cloak,  rapped  gently  upon  the  carved  door  of  black  walnut, 
and  rang  the  bell.      Soon    the    door   swung  open,  and  a 
negro  in  a  black  coat,  white  vest,  and  handkerchief  of  great 
stiffness,   and  nether  garments  of  flashy  stripes,    politely 
bowed  him  into  a  hall  of  great  splendour.     Rows  of  statuary 
Btood  in  alcoves  along  its  sides ;    the  walls   dazzled  with 
bright  coloured  paintings  in  massive  gilt  frames;    highly 
coloured  and  badly  blended    mythological   designs    spread 
along  the  ceiling :  the  figure  of  a  female,  with  pearly  tears 
gushing  from  her  eyes,  as  on  bended  knee  she  besought 
mercy  of,the  winged  angel  perched  above  her,  stood  beside 
the  broad  stairway  at  the  further  end  of  the  hall —strangely 
emblematical  of  the  many  thousand  souls  the  man-seller  had 


592  A  PLOT  IS  DISCLOSED,  AND  THE  MAN-SELLER 

made  weep  in  the  bitterness  of  slavery ;  the  softest  rugs  and 
costly  Turkey  carpets,  with  which  its  floor  was  spread,  yielded 
lightly  to  the  footfall,  as  the  jetting  lights  of  a  great  chande 
lier  shed  refulgence  over  the  whole  :  indeed,  what  there  lacked 
of  taste  was  made  up  with  air  of  opulence.  The  negro  exhibit 
ed  some  surprise  at  the  stranger's  dress  and  manner,  for  he  af 
fected  ease  and  indifference.  "  Is  your  master  at  leisure  1 "  said 
he.  "  Business,  or  a  friend  ?  "  inquired  the  negro,  making  one 
of  his  best  bows,  and  drawing  back  his  left  foot.  "  Both,"  was 
the  quick  reply.  " I,  boy,  am  a  gentleman !  "  "I  sees  dat, 
mas'r,"  rejoined  the  boy,  accompanying  his  answer  with  another 
bow,  and  requesting  the  stranger's  name,  as  he  motioned  him 
into  a  spacious  drawing-room  on  the  right,  still  more  gorgeously 
furnished. 

"  My  name  is  Major  Blank  :  your  master  knows  my  name  : 
I  would  see  him  quickly ! "  again  spoke  the  stranger,  as  the 
boy  promptly  disappeared  to  make  the  announcement.  The 
heavy  satin-damask  curtains,  of  finest  texture,  that  adorned 
the  windows ;  the  fresco-paintings  of  the  walls ;  the 
elaborate  gilding  that  here  and  there  in  bad  taste  relieved 
the  cornices ;  the  massive  pictures  that  hung  in  gauze- 
covered  frames  upon  the  walls ;  the  chastely  designed 
carpets,  and  lolls,  and  rugs,  with  which  the  floor  gave 
out  its  brilliancy  ;  the  costly  tapestry  «f  the  curiously 
carved  furniture  that  stood  here  and  there  about  the  room ; 
and  the  soft  light  of  a  curiously  constructed  chandelier, 
suspended  from  the  left  hand  of  an  angel  in  bronze,  the 
said  angel  having  its  wings  pinioned  to  the  ceiling,  its 
body  in  the  attitude  of  descending,  and  its  right  hand 
gracefully  raised  above  the  globe,  spreading  its  prismatic 
glows  over  the  whole,  did  indeed  make  the  scene  resplendent 
of  luxury.  The  man  carelessly  seated  himself  at  a  table 
that  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  threw  the  hat 
he  had  declined  yielding  to  the  negro  on  the  floor  beside 
him,  rested  the  elbow  of  his  left  arm  on  the  table,  and  his 
head  in  his  hand,  as  with  the  fingers  of  his  right  hand  did 
he  fret  the  long  silvery  beard  that  bedecked  his  chin,  and 
contemplate  with  eager  gaze  the  scene  around  him.  "  Yea, 
the  man-seller  hath,  with  his  spoils  of  greed,  gotten  him  a 
gorgeous  mansion ;  even  he  liveth  like  a  prince,  his  head 
resteth  more  in  peace,  and  because  he  hath  great  wealth  of 
crime  men  seek  to  honour  him.  The  rich  criminal  hath  few 


MADE  TO  PAT  THE  PENALTY  OP  HIS  CEIMES.  593 

to  fear ;  but  hard  is  the  fate  of  him  who  hath  not  the  where 
with  to  be  aught  but  a  poor  one  !"  he  muttered  to  himself, 
as  the  door  opened,  and  the  well-rounded  figure  of 
Graspum  whisked  into  the  room.  The  negro  bowed 
politely,  and  closed  the  door  after  him,  as  the  stranger's 
eye  flashed  upon  his  old  acquaintance,  who,  bedecked  some 
what  extravagantly,  and  with  a  forced  smile  on  his  subtle 
countenance,  advanced  rubbing  his  hands  one  over  the  other, 
making  several  methodical  bows,  to  which  the  stranger  rose, 
as  he  said,  "  Most  happy  am  I  to  see  you,  Major !  Major 
Blake,  I  believe,  I  have  the  pleasure  of  receiving?"  Here 
the  stranger  interpolated  by  saying  his  name  was  not 
Blake,  but  Blank :  the  other  apologised,  said  he  was  just 
entertaining  a  small  but  very  select  circle  of  friends ;  never 
theless,  always  chose  to  follow  the  maxim  of  "  business  before 
pleasure."  Again  he  bustled  about,  worked  his  fingers 
with  a  mechanical  air,  frisked  them  through  his  hair,  with 
which  he  covered  the  bald  surface  of  his  head,  kept  his 
little  keen  eyes  leering  apprehensively  on  what  he  deemed 
a  ripe  customer,  whom  he  bid  keep  his  seat.  To  an  invita 
tion  to  lay  off  his  cloak  the  stranger  replied  that  it  was  of 
no  consequence.  "  A  planter  just  locating,  if  I  may  be 
permitted  to  suggest?"  enquired  Graspum,  taking  his  seat  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  table.  "JSTo  !"  returned  the  other, 
emphatically ;  "  but  I  have  some  special  business  in  your 
line."  The  man  of  business,  his  face  reddening  of  anxiety, 
rose  quickly  from  his  seat,  advanced  to  what  seemed  a  rose 
wood  cabinet  elaborately  carved,  but  which  was  in  reality 
an  iron  safe  encased  with  ornamental  wood,  and  from 
it  drew  forth  a  tin  case,  saying,  as  he  returned  and  set  it 
upon  the  table,  "  Lots  from  one  to  five  were  sold  yesterday 
at  almost  fabulous  prices — never  was  the  demand  for 
prime  people  better  ;  but  we  have  Lots  (here  he  began  to 
disgorge  invoices)  six,  seven,  eight,  and  nine  left ;  all 
containing  the  primest  of  people !  Yes,  sir,  let  me  assure 
you,  the  very  choicest  of  the  market."  He  would  have  the 
customer  examine  the  invoices  himself,  and  in  the  morning 
the  live  stock  may  be  seen  at  his  yard.  "  You  cherish  no  evil 
in  your  breast,  in  opposition  to  the  command  of  Him  who 
reproved  the  wrong  of  malice ;  but  you  still  cling  to  the  sale 
of  men,  which  you  conceive  no  harm,  eh,  Graspum  ?" 
returned  the  stranger,  knitting  his  brows,  as  a  curl  of 


594  A  PLOT  IS  DISCLOSED,  AND  THE  MAN-SELLE3 

fierce  hatred  set  upon  his  lip.  "With  an  air  of  surprise 
did  Grraspum  hesitate  for  a  moment,  and  then,  with  a 
measured  smile,  said,  "  "Why,  Lord  bless  you !  it  would 
be  a  dishonour  for  a  man  of  my  celebrity  in  business  to 
let  a  day  escape  without  a  sale ;  within  the  last  ten  days  I 
have  sold  a  thousand  people,  or  more, — provided  you  throw 
in  the  old  ones  !"  Here  he  again  frisked  his  fingers,  and 
leaned  back  in  his  chair,  as  his  face  resumed  an  air  of  satis 
faction.  The  stranger  interrupted  as  the  man-seller  \\~as 
about  to  enquire  the  number  and  texture  of  the  people  he 
desired.  "  Grraspum,"  said  he,  with  significant  firmness, 
setting  his  eyes  upon  him  with  intense  stare, — "  I  want 
neither  your  men,  nor  your  women,  nor  your  little  children  ; 
but,  have  you  a  record  of  souls  you  have  sunk  in  the  bitter 
ness  of  slavery  in  that  box— here  the  stranger  paused,  and 
pointed  at  the  box  on  the  table — keep  it  until  you  knock  for 
admittance  at  the  gates  of -eternity."  It  was  not  until  this 
moment  that  he  could  bring  his  mind,  which  had  been 
absorbed  in  the  mysteries  of  man- selling,  to  regard  the 
stranger  in  any  other  light  than  that  of  a  customer. 
"  Pardon  me,  sir  !"  said  he,  somewhat  nervously,  "  but  you 
speak  with  great  familiarity."  The  stranger  would  not  be 
considered  intrusive.  "  Then  you  have  forgotten  me, 
Grraspum  ?"  exclaimed  the  man,  with  an  ominous  laugh. 
As  if  deeply  offended  at  such  familiarity,  the  man-seller 
shook  his  head  rebukingly,  and  replied  by  saying  he  had  an 
advantage  of  him  not  comprehensible.  "  Then  have  you 
sent  my  dearest  relatives  to  an  untimely  grave,  driven  me 
from  the  home  of  my  childhood,  and  made  a  hundred 
wretches  swim  a  sea  of  sorrow  ;  and  yet  you  do  not  know 
me?"  Indeed,  the  charges  here  recounted  would  have 
least  served  to  aid  the  recognition,  for  they  belonged  only 
to  one  case  among  many  scores  that  might  have  been 
enumerated.  He  shook  his  head  in  reply.  For  a  minute 
did  they,  —  the  stranger  scowling  sarcastically  upon 
his  adversary  (for  such  he  now  was),  —  gaze  upon 
each  other,  until  Graspum's  eyes  drooped  and  his  face 
turned  pale.  "  I  have  seen  you  ;  but  at  this  moment  cannot 
place  you,"  he  replied,  drawing  back  his  chair  a  pace.  "  It 
were  well  had  you  never  known  me !"  was  the  stranger's 
rejoinder,  spoken  in  significant  accents,  as  he  deliberately 
drew  from  beneath  his  cloak  a  revolver,  which  he  laid  on 


MADE  TO  PAT  THE  PENALTY  OF  HIS  CHIMES.  595 

the  table,  warning  his  adversary  that  it  were  well  he  move 
cautiously.  Graspum  affects  not  to  comprehend  such  impor 
tune  demeanor,  or  conjecture  what  has  brought  him  hither. 
Trembling  in  fright,  and  immersed  in  the  sweat  of  his  cowar 
dice,  he  would  proclaim  aloud  his  apprehension ;  to  which 
medium  of  salvation  he  makes  an  attempt  to  reach  the  door. 
But  the  stranger  is  too  quick  for  him :  "  Calm  your  fears, 
Graspum,"  he  says  ;  "  act  not  the  child,  but  meet  the  conse 
quences  like  a  hero  i^trange  is  it,  that  you,  who  have  sold 
twenty  thousand  souls,  should  shrink  at  the  yielding  up  of 
one  life  !"  concludes  he,  placing  his  back  firmly  against  the 
door,  and  commanding  Grraspum  to  resume  his  seat.  Having 
locked  the  door  and  placed  the  key  in  his  pocket,  he  paced 
twice  or  thrice  up  and  down  the  floor,  seemingly  in  deep 
contemplation,  and  heaved  a  sigh.  "  Graspum  !"  he  ejacu 
lated,  suddenly  turning  towards  that  terrified  gentleman ; 
"  in  that  same  iron  chest  have  you  another  box,  the  same 
containing  papers  which  are  to  me  of  more  value  than  all 
your  invoices  of  souls.  Go  !  bring  it  hither !"  Tremblingly 
did  the  man-seller  obey  the  command,  drew  from  the  chest 
an  antiquated  box,  and  placed  it  hesitatingly  upon  the 
table.  "  I  will  get  the  key,  if  you  will  kindly  permit  me," 
he  said,  bowing,  as  the  sweat  fell  from  his  chin  upon  the 
carpet.  The  stranger  says  it  wants  no  key ;  he  breaks  it 
open  with  his  hands.  "  You  have  long  stored  it  with  goodly 
papers  ;  let  us  see  of  what  they  are  made,"  said  he.  Here 
Grasp  am  commenced  drawing  forth  package  after  package 
of  papers,  the  inscriptions  on  which  were  eagerly  observed 
by  the  stranger's  keen  eye.  At  length  there  came  out  a 
package  of  letters,  superscribed  in  the  stranger's  own  hand, 
and  directed  to  Hugh  Marston.  "  How  came  you  by 
these  ?"  enquired  the  stranger,  grasping  them  quickly : 
"  Ah,  Graspum,  I  have  heard  all !  Never  mind, — continue  !" 
he  resumed.  Presently  there  came  forth  a  package 
addressed  to  "Franconia  M'Carstrow,"  some  of  which  the 
stranger  recognised  as  superscribed  by  his  mother,  others 
by  Clotilda,  for  she  could  write  when,  a  slave.  Graspum 
would  put  this  last  aside ;  but  in  an  angry  tone  did  the 
stranger  demand  it,  as  his  passion  had  well  nigh  got  the 
better  of  his  resolution.  "  How  the  deep  and  damning 
infamy  discovers  itself !  Ah,  Graspum,  for  the  dross  of 
this  world  hast  thou  betrayed  the  innocent.  Through  thine 


596  A  PLOT  IS  DISCLOSED,  AND  THE  MAN-SELLEK 

emissaries  has  thus  intercepted  these  letters,  and  felt  safe  iq 
thy  guilt.  And  still  you  know  not  who  I  am  ?"  Indeed,  the 
man-seller  was  too  much  beside  himself  with  terror  to  have 
recognised  even  a  near  friend.  "  My  name  is  Lorenzo, — he 
who  more  than  twenty  years  ago  you  beguiled  into  crime. 
There  is  concealed  beneath  those  papers  a  bond  that  bears 
on  its  face  the  secret  of  the  many  sorrows  brought  upon  my 
family."  Lorenzo !"  interrupted  Graspum,  as  he  let  fall 
a  package  of  papers,  and  sat  aghast  and  trembling.  "  Yes," 
replied  the  other,  "  you  cannot  mistSte  me,  though  time 
hath  laid  a  heavy  hand  upon  my  brow.  Now  is  your  infamy 
complete  !"  Here  the  stranger  drew  forth  the  identical 
bond  we  have  described  in  the  early  part  of  our  history,  as 
being  signed  by  Marston,  at  his  mansion,  on  the  night  pre 
vious  to  Lorenzo's  departure.  Bidding  the  man-seller  move 
not  an  inch,  he  spread  the  document  before  him,  and  com 
manded  him  to  read  the  contents.  This  he  had  not  resolu 
tion  to  do.  "  Graspum  !"  spoke  Lorenzo,  his  countenance 
flushed  in  passion  ;  "  you  can  see,  if  you  cannot  read  ;  look 
ye  upon  the  words  of  that  paper  (here  he  traced  the  lines 
with  the  forefinger  of  his  right  hand  as  he  stood  over  the 
wretched  miscreant)  and  tell  me  if  it  be  honourable 
to  spare  the  life  of  one  who  would  commit  so  foul  a  deed. 
On  the  night  you  consummated  my  shame,  forced  me  to  re 
lieve  you  by  procuring  my  uncle's  signature  to  a  document 
not  then  filled  up,  or  made  complete,  how  little  did  I  con 
jecture  the  germs  of  villainy  so  deep  in  your  heart  as  to 
betray  the  confidence  I  reposed  in  you.  You,  in  your 
avarice,  changed  the  tenor  of  that  instrument,  made  the 
amount  more  than  double  that  which  I  had  injudiciously 
become  indebted  to  you,  and  transcribed  it  in  the  instrument, 
in  legal  phraseology,  which  you  made  a  death-warrant  to  my 
nearest  and  dearest  relatives.  Bead  it,  miscreant !  read  it ! 
Head  on  itsixty-two  thousand  dollars,  the  cause  of  your  anxiety 
to  hurry  me  out  of  the  city  into  a  foreign  land.  I  returned 
to  seek  a  sister,  to  relieve  my  uncle,  to  live  an  honour 
able  man  on  that  home  so  dear  in  my  boyhood,  so  bright  of 
that  which  was  pleasant  in  the  past,  to  make  glad  the  hearts 
of  my  aged  parents,  and  to  receive  the  «weet  forgiveness  of 
those  who  honoured  me  when  fortune  smiled  ;  but  you  have 
left  me  none  of  these  boons — nay,  you  would  have  me  again 
wander  an  outcast  upon  the  world!"  And  now,  as  the 


MADE  TO  PAY  THE  PENALTY  OF  HIS  CRIMES.  597 

miscreant  fell  tremblingly  on  his  knees,  and  beseeching  that 
mercy  which  he  had  denied  so  many,  Lorenzo's  frenzy 
surmounted  all  his  resolution.  With  agitated  hand  he 
seized  his  revolver,  saying,  "  I  will  go  hence  stained  with  a 
miscreant's  blood."  Another  moment,  and  the  loud  shriek 
of  the  man-seller  echoed  forth,  the  sharp  report  of  a  pistol 
rung  ominously  through  the  mansion;  and  quivering  to 
the  ground  fell-  dead  a  wretch  who  had  tortured  ten 
thousand  souls,  as  Lorenzo  disappeared  and  was  seen  no 
more. 


MAGNIFICENT  WORK  OF  HISTORY. 

JL    Whole  library  in    Itself! 
Cost  $11,OOO— 12OT  Pages— TO  Maps— TOO  Engravings. 


HISTORY  OF  ALL  NATIONS, 

FROM  THE  EARLIEST  PERIOD  TO  THE  PRESENT  TIME  ; 


9 
IN   WHICH  THE 

HISTORY  OF  EVERY  NATION,  ANCIENT  AND  MODERN, 

IS    SEPARATELY    GIVEN. 

BY    S.    O.    GOODRICH, 

Consul  to  Paris,  and  Author  of  several  Works  of  History,  Parley's  Talcs,  etc. 

It  contains  1207  pages,  royal  octavo,  and  is  illustrated  by  70  Maps  and  700  Engravings : 
bound  in  imitation  Turkey  morocco. 

Invariable  retail  price,  $6,00  in  one  volume ;  $7,00  in  two  volumes. 

The  same,  full  gilt  edira  and  sides,  $8,00  in  one  volume ;  $10,00  in  two  vola. 


%*  It  Is  believed  that  the  above  work,  by  Mr.  Goodrich,  -will  be  very  acceptable 
<«  the  American  public.  It  is  the  result  of  years  of  toil  and  labor,  assisted  in  his  re 
searches  by  several  scholars  of  known  ability,  and  has  been  gotten  up  at  a  great  ex 
pense  by  the  proprietors.  No  pains  have  been  spared  in  the  execution  of  the  Illustra 
tions  and  Maps,  which  are  entirely  new,  and  prepared  by  the  distinguished  author 
exrpres&y  for  the  work.  Indeed,  all  the  other  historical  writings  of  Mr.  Goodrich 
sink  Into  insignificance,  when  compared  with  this,  the  result  of  his  riper  and  maturer 
years.  It  is  admitted  that  One  Hundred,  Dollars  could  not  purchase  the  same  mat 
ter  in  any  other  shape:  and  the  publishers  confidently  expect  that,  in  consideration 
of  the  great  literary  value  of  the.  work,  the  large  sum  expended  in  preparing  it  for  tho 
press,  and  the  exceedingly  moderate  price  at  which  it  is  offered,  that  it  will  be  favor 
ably  received  by  every  lover  of  good  books. 

Published  by  MILLER,  ORTON  &  MULLIGAN, 

No.  25  Park  Row,  NEW  YORK,  and  107  Gene*ee-8t,  AUBURN. 


MINNIE  HERMON, 


The  great  Temperance  Tale.     BY  T.  W.  BROWN,  Editor  of  the 

"Cayuga  Chief,"  and  author  of  "Temperance  Tales."     Portrait 

and  four  illustrations.    Muslin,  472  pp.  12mo.    Price  $1,26. 


This  work  bears  the  impress  of  life-like  scenes. — Boston  Olive  Branch. 

The  story  is  dramatically  worked  up,  involving  a  great  variety  of  moving  scenes. — N. 
T.  Evangelist. 

This  is  a  powerfully  written  and  absorbingly  interesting'volnme. — Rural  New  Yorker. 

This  is  a  freshly,  boldly  written  story,  free  from  fanaticism,  and  advocating  the  cause  of 
temperance  by  argumentative  incidents  taken  from  real  life. — Dodge's  Lit.  Museum. 

Mr.  Brown  is  a  vigorous  and  agreeable  writer,  and  never  forgets  the  object  he  has  in 
view, — the  correction  of  a  great  public  evil. — Buffalo  Republic. 

Its  incidents  are  life-like,  and  are  thrillingly  related — terrible  pictures  of  the  misfor^ 
tune  and  scandal  of  fallen  man. — Buffalo  Christian,  Advocate. 

It  is  smoothly  and  strongly  written — full  of  incident — and  makes  eloquent  appeals  to 
the  heart  and  the  conscience. — Buffalo  Express. 

It  appeals  eloquently  to  the  better  feelings  of  humanity,  and  we  predict  that  it  will  be 
come  the  "Uncle  Tom"  of  teetotalism. —  Yankee  Blade. 

Its  matter  is  drawn  from  life,  "  written  with  a  throbbing  nib,  and  its  truth  scaled  with 
the  endorsement  of  a  scalding  tear."— Syracuse  Journal. 

Among  the  many  works  which  the  Temperance  Reform  has  of  late  years  produced, 
few  will  rank  as  high  as  Minnie  Hermon. — Syracuse  Religious  Recorder. 

Mr.  Brown  has  attained  considerable  reputation  as  a  writer  of  Temperance  stories.  His 
works  of  that  description  have  had  a  wide  circulation. — Cincinnati  Commercial. 

This  is  a  thrilling  Temperance  narrative. — Pittaburg  Christian  Advocate. 

The  characters  are  all  drawn  from  life,  and  are  sketched  with  a  vigorous  and  fearless 
pen. — Main*  Farmer. 

There  are  many  passages  of  surpassing  power  and  beauty,  the  effect  of  which  the  reader 
will  find  it  difficult  to  resist — Auburn  Advertiser. 

Mr.  Brown  narrates  scenes  which  are  strikingly  true  to  nature,  which  stir  the  blood 
and  provoke  scalding  tears. — Detroit  Ch.  Herald. 

The  evils  of  the  License  system  are  drawn  out  with  fearful  distinctness. —  Toledo  Blade. 

The  work  will  be  found  a  powerful  ally  by  the  friends  of  the  Temperance  Reform,  and 
should  be  circulated  far  and  wide. — If.  Y.  Tribune. 

Minnie  Hermon  is  a  story  of  thrilling  interest,  and  of  the  highest  moral  tendencies.  It 
Is  truly  a  "  Tale  for  the  Times." — Phrenol.  Journal. 

A  beautiful  volume,  and  though  called  a  tale,  yet  every  chapter  is  drawn  from  life. — 
Baltimore  Lutheran  Observer. 

Minnie  Hermon  is  a  book  that  will  make  its  mark  in  a  book  making  age.  It  is  wor 
thy  ot  a  wide  circulation. — Northern  Christian  Advocate. 

All  of  it  sweet  toned  and  pure,  and  some  scenes  really  pmvprfnl — Sat.  Eve.  Post. 

Some  of  its  passages  have  a  beauty  and  force  rivaling  the  great  masters  of  fiction. — 
Riclvmond  Christian  Advocate. 

This  excellent  story  should  be  read  by  both  old  and  young. — Star  Spangled  Banner. 

It  is  a  Temperance  Tale,  told  attractively,  and  printed  and  bound  in  flrst-rate  style.— 
Alb.  Eve.  Journal. 

Minnie  Hennon  is  a  vivid  delineation,  in  the  form  of  a  romance,  of  the  evils  of  Intern 
perance. — N.  Y.  Eve.  Post. 

A  valuable  adjunct  in  the  great  moral  movement  of  the  age. — American  Courier. 

This  book  must  become  very  popular,  and  obtain  a  large  circulation. — Mihcaukie  Sent. 

A  valuable  addition  to  the  Temperance  literature  of  our  country. — Jf.  Y.  Alliance. 

It  is  written  in  a  forcible  and  graphic  style. —  Temperance  Banner. 

This  Life-Tale,  we  are  sure,  will  command  the  best  commendation  in  the  reading. — 
Lancaster  Express. 

As  an  addition  to  the  Temperance  literature  of  the  day,  it  has  its  mission,  and  con 
tains  elements  of  power  that  cannot  fail  to  execute  that  mission  successfully. — Chicago 
Christ.  Advocate. 

The  author  has  succeeded  in  producing  a  work  of  rare  merit  "We  hope  it  will  be 
widely  circulated. — Christian  Ambasssador. 

Published  by  MILLER,  ORTON  &  MULLIGAN, 
No.  25  Park  Row,  NEW  YOKK,  and  107  Geiiesee-st.,  AUBURN. 


LIFE  OF 

MARY,  QUEEN  OF  SCOTS. 

— -» 

BY    P.    C.    HEADLEY, 

AUTHOR  OF   'JOSEPHINE,'    'KOSSUTH,'   'WOMEN   OF  THE  BIBLE,'   ETC. 

*. 

Portrait  on  Steel.    Muslin,  448  pp.  12mo.    Price  $1,25. 

EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  REVIEWERS. 

The  universal  interest  that  has  always  been  felt  in  the  romantic  and  tragical  career  of 
this  unfortunate  and  beautiful  queen,  will  render  this  biography  one  of  living  interest,— 
Olive  Branch. 

The  sale  of  three  editions  of  this  work  attests  its  popularity. — JV.  T.  Time*. 

The  style  in  which  the  present  volume  rehearses  the  story,  will  secure  for  it  an  extensive 
circulation.—^-  Y.  Organ. 

It  is  a  full  and  corrected  history  of  this  remarkable  personage. — JV.   Y.  Evangelist. 

Our  author  throws  a  chain  around  his  subject  that  will  insure  for  it  a  success  equal  to 
the  ''Josephine." — Newport  Mercury. 

It  is  an  affecting  story,  however  told,  and  it  is  probably  as  near  historic  accuracy  as 
e.iij  other  life  of  the  beautiful  Scotch  Queen  that  we  have. — Lutheran  Oliiierver. 

We  commend  this  work  to  our  readers  who  are  inclined  to  tl;-i  study  of  history  in 
biography,  of  the  most  interesting  character. —  Wesleyan,  Syracuse. 

An  old  theme,  but  handled  with  the  masterly  style  which  characterizes  everything 
HKADI.KY  attempts.— Ohio  Statesman. 

lie  has  consulted  the  best  English  authors  and  such  a  beok  compiled  as  seemed  best 
adapted  to  the  popular  mind  of  the  American  public. —  Detroit  Advertiser. 

This  is  a  fine  library  volume,  and  the  universal  interest  felt  in  the  fate  of  the  ro 
mantic  and  tragical  career  of  Mary  Stuart,  will,  no  doubt,  cause  this  American  version  of 
her  life  to  be  sought  for. — Dollar  Newspaper. 

Mr.  Headley  has  performed  his  task  faithfully  and  well. — Ravenna  Star. 

"We  think  the  author  has  dtoe  full  justice  to  his  heroine,  and  lias  taken  a  more  correct 
view  of  Mary  as  a  woman,  and  as  a  Queen,  than  we  have  seen  elsewhere. — Lowell  Christ 
ian  Era. 

The  value  of  the  work  is  enhanced  by  the  light  it  throws  upon  the  history  of  some  of 
the  most  important  kingdoms  of  Europe. — Dundee  liecord. 

All  historical  and  biographical  readers  will  find  it  an  acceptable  volume. —  Yate&  Whig. 
The  lifo  of  the  lovely,  unhappy  and  unfortunate  Queen  of  Scotland  is  in  this  volume 
tblineated  with  rare  faithfulness. — Racine  Advocate. 
The  work  is  full  of  exciting  interest,  and  its  influence  is  good  on  the  young. — Galena  Adv. 

This  account  of  her  life  and  character  seeins  well  adapted  to  popular  use. — 3Tew 
England  Farmer. 

The  publishers  have  done  well  in  bringing  out  this  work  at  this  time,  when  there  is 
crving  need  that  the  corruptions  of  political  conduct  be  warned,  by  the  strongest  testi 
mony,  that  retributive  justice  will  not  forever  sleep. — Home  Journal. 

This  is  a  beautiful  volume  of  448  pages,  by  a  popular  writer,  embracing  a  subject 
of  deeplv  romantic  and  melancholy  interest — Pittsburgh  Christian  Advocate. 

Published  by  MILLER,  ORTON  &  MULLIGAN, 
No.  25  Park  Row,  NEW  YOHK,  and  107  Genesee-st.,  AUBURN. 


TWELVE  YEAES  A  SLAVE 

The    Narrative  of  SOLOMON   NORTHUP,  a  citizen  of  New  York, 

Kidnapped  in  Washington  City,  in  1841,  and  Rescued  in  1853, 

from  a  Cotton  Plantation  near  Red  River,  Louisiana. 

7  Illustrations,  336  pp.  12mo.     Price  $1,00 


VOICE    OF    THE    PRESS. 

Tho  narrative  will  bo  read  with  interest  by  every  one  who  can  sympathize  with  a  hu 
man  being  struggling  for  freedom. — Buff.  Cour. 

The  volume  cannot  fail  to  gain  a  wide  circulation.  No  one  can  contemplate  the  scenes 
which  are  here  so  naturally  set  forth,  without  a  new  conviction  of  the  hideousness  of  tho 
institution  from  which  the  subject  of  the  narrative  has  happily  escaped. — N.  Y.  Tribune. 

We  think  the  story  as  affecting  as  any  tale  of  sorrow  could  be. — N.   Y,  Evangelist. 

It  proves  conclusively  that  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin  is  a  truthful  history  of  American  Slavery, 
though  drawn  under  the  veil  of  fiction. — Otsego  Jiep. 

Next  to  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,  the  extraordinary  narrative  of  Solomon  Northup,  is  the 
most  remarkable  book  that  was  ever  issued  from  the  American  press. — Detroit  Trib. 

This  is  a  simple,  earnest,  moving  narrative  of  the  events,vicissitudes,  cruelties  and 
kindnesses  of  a  bondage  of  12  years.  If  there  are  those  who  can  peruse  it  unmoved,  we 
pity  them.  That  it  will  create  as  great  a  sensation,  anil  be  regarded  equally  as  interesting 
as  "  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,"  is  not  a  question  for  argument. — Buffalo  Express. 

This  is  one  of  the  most  exciting  narratives,  full  of  thrilling  incidents  artlessly  told,  with 
all  the  marks  of  truth.  There  are  no  depicted  scenes  in  "  Uncle  Tom  "  more  tragic,  horri 
ble,  and  pathetic,than  the  incidents  compassed  in  the  twelve  years  of  this  man's  life  in 
slavery. — Cincinnati  Jour. 

He  who  with  an  unbiassed  mind  sits  down  to  the  perusal  of  this  book,  will  arise  per 
fectly  satisfied  that  American  slavery  is  a  hell  of  torments  yet  untold,  and  feel  like  devo 
ting  the  energies  of  his  life  to  its  extirpation  from  the  face  of  God's  beautiful  earth. — 
Evening  Chron. 

The  story  is  one  of  thrilling  interest  as  a  mere  personal  history.  He  is  but  a  little  darker 
than  many  who  pass  for  white,  and  quite  as  intelligent  as  most  white  men. — N.  C.  Adv. 

The  book  is  one  of  most  absorbing  interest. — Pittsburgh  Dispatch. 

It  is  written  in  a  racy,  agreeable  style,  and  narrates  with  admirable  conciseness,  yet 
animation  tho  story  of  the  sufferings,  woes  and  persecutions  of  the  hero.  It  is  no  less 
remarkable  for  candor  and  unity  of  purpose  than  for  literary  ability. — O-neida  Her. 

It  is  one  of  the  most  effective  books  against  slavery  that  was  ever  written.  "Archy 
Moore  "  and" Uncle  Tom  "  are  discredited  by  many  as  " romances ; "  but  how  the  apolo 
gists  for  tho  institution  can  dispose  of  Northup  we  are  curious  to  see. — Syracuse  Jour. 

It  is  well  told  and  bears  internal  evidence  of  being  a  clear  statement  of  facts.  There  is 
no  attempt  at  display,  but  the  events  are  so  graphically  portrayed,  that  the  interest  in  the 
perusal  is  deep  and  unabated  to  the  last  Some  of  the  scenes  have  a  fearful  and  exciting 
power  in  their  delineation. — Cayuga  Chief. 

It  is  a  strange  history,  its  truth  is  far  stranger  than  fiction.  Think  of  it!  For  thirty 
years  A  MAN,  with  all  a  man's  hopes,  fears  and  aspirations — with  a  wife  and  children  to  call 
him  by  tho  endearing  names  of  husband  and  father — with  a  home,  humble  it  may  be, 
but  still  a  HOME,  beneath  the  shelter  of  whose  roof  none  had  a  right  to  molest  or  make  him 
afraid — then  for  twelve  years  A  THINS,  a  chattel  personal,  classed  with  mules  and  horses 
and  treated  with  less  consideration  than  they:  torn  from  his  home  and  family,  and  the  free 
labor  by  which  he  earned  their  bread,  and  driven  to  unremitting,  unrequited  toil  in  a  cotton 
field,  under  a  burning  southern  sun,  by  the  lash  of  an  inhuman  master.  Oh  1  it  is  horri 
ble.  It  chills  the  blood  to  think  that  such  things  tire.— Fred.  Vauglass'  Paper. 

It  comes  before  us  with  highly  respectable  vouchers,  and  is  a  plain  and  simple  statement 
of  what  happened  to  the  author  while  in  bondage  to  southern  masters.  It  is  a  well  told 
story,  full  of  interest,  and  may  be  said  to  be  the  reality  of  "life  among  tho  lowly." — Buff. 
Com.  Adv. 

Let  it  be  read  by  all  those  pood  easy  souls,  who  think  slavery  is,  on  the  wholo  a  good 
thing.  Let  it  be  read  by  all  who  think  that  although  slavery  is  politically  and  economi 
cally  a  bad  thing,  it  is  not  very  bad  for  the  slaves.  Let  it  bo  read  by  all  those  M.  C.'s  and 
supporters  who  are  always  ready  to  give  their  votes,  in  aid  of  slavery  and  the  slave  trado 
with  all  the  kidnapping  inseparable  from  it  Let  it  be  read,  too,  by  our  southern  friends, 
who  pity  with  so  much  Christian  sensibility,  the  wretched  condition  of  the  free  negroes  at 
the  north,  and  rejoice  at  the  enviable  condition  of  their  own  slaves. — N.  Y.  Ind. 

Published  by  HTLLER,  ORTON  &  MULLIGAN, 
No.  26  Park  Row,  NEW  YORK,  and  107  Genesee-st.,  APBPRN. 


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